Clean Slate
by Clowns or Midgets
Summary: 'Nasty, those memories,' Death said. 'You don't want to know what they'll do to him.' After an accident, Sam's memories of the last two years are wiped. What starts out as a blessing soon turns into a curse as Sam's memories are reawakened. LIMP!HURT!SAM WORRIED!DEAN
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta'ing this and for all her help and encouragement through the writing process. **

**This story is completely written, so I won't leave you hanging too long between updates. **

**The story starts at the end of Slash Fiction (S7 E06) and becomes AU from there.**

* * *

**Chapter One**

"Are you sure you want to dump these things?" Dean asked. "I'm thinking they might actually come in handy down the road. What do you think?"

Sam didn't answer. His mind was still reeling from what the Leviathan Dean had said. Was it possible that Dean had really killed Amy? He didn't want to believe it. He didn't want to think that his brother would betray him like that, but what other choice did he have?

Dean had been acting strange ever since Montana, drinking more than ever and having nightmares. The more Sam thought about it, the more he believed it was true.

"Hey. What? What is it? Talk."

Sam didn't look up. "Nothing."

"Well, that's convincing. Did monster-us give you the jeebs, huh?" Dean grinned. "'Cause I gotta be honest, I ain't looking in the mirror for a while myself."

Sam drew a deep breath and straightened. "Okay. You really want to know what's wrong?

"Yeah. Yeah, you know my motto—here to help."

"Here to help. Kind of like you helped Amy?"

Dean's easy smile faded. "Listen, Sam..."

"Don't… don't lie to me again. No, don't even talk to me. Yeah, I can't." Sam opened the door of the car and pulled out his bags. "You know what, Dean? I can't."

Sam turned his back on his brother and walked away along the dock. He could hear Dean following, and it aggravated him.

"You can't what?" Dean asked.

"I can't talk to you right now, Dean. I can't even be around you right now!"

"Okay, so—"

"I think you should just go on without me."

Dean nodded. He didn't want Sam to go, but he wasn't about to beg him to stay either. He had his pride.

"Go." Sam snapped.

"All right. Sorry, Sam."

Dean watched as Sam slung his bags over his shoulder and walked away. As Sam rounded the corner, Dean sighed heavily and raked a hand over his face.

"You could have handled that a little better," he muttered to himself.

He had always known Sam would find out the truth eventually. It was only a matter of time. But now it had happened, he was in shock. In all the responses he had envisaged—a sucker punch being one of them—he had never imagined Sam would just walk away. Upon reflection, he would have preferred the punch.

Shrugging his shoulders, Dean climbed into the car and rested his hands on the steering wheel. He knew he should start the car and move on, he looked suspicious sitting there, but he lingered anyway. He told himself he wasn't waiting for Sam to come back, but in truth, he couldn't help but hope Sam would get over his snit fit and come back.

Eventually, Dean accepted that Sam wasn't coming back. He had likely already stolen a car and was zipping down the freeway going who knows where. Wherever it was, it was away from Dean.

Cursing under his breath, Dean started the car.

They had come to this place to dump their doppelganger's heads in the lake, but Dean decided it would be better to bury them after all. He told himself it was the better choice, but in truth, he was just making excuses. Bobby was still out in Rufus' cabin, and that would be the perfect place to bury the heads. While he was there, Dean could see Bobby and maybe get some vindication for killing Amy. Bobby would surely understand why he had to do it. The prospect of a few days in the cabin—beers and good company—cheered Dean, and he gunned the engine and pulled onto the road with a smile on his face.

* * *

Sam was fuming as he walked away from his brother.

Dean had pulled some shady stuff over the years, but never something like this. He had killed Amy, Sam's friend, and even worse, he had lied about it.

Sam had gone on thinking that he and Dean had finally reached a point in their relationship that Dean could trust Sam to make the right choice, and it was all crap.

Sam had made the right choice, dammit. Amy had a kid. Sam couldn't just leave him an orphan. How was that right? Thoughts of Jacob came to him. Where was the boy now? What had happened to him after his mother had been killed? Sam's anger surged once more, and he hurried his pace away from his brother.

Sam's thoughts turned to his next step as he walked. The only place Sam could go outside of a motel on the road was Rufus' cabin in Montana. While there, he could go into Bozeman to check if Jacob was still around. He didn't know what he would do if he found him, but he needed to make sure that he was okay. Or at least as okay as it was possible to be after your mother had just been murdered.

His path decided, Sam made his way on foot along the road. He hoped against hope that Dean wouldn't drive past him. He knew that if he did, Dean would not be able to just leave things as they were. He would stop and try to continue the conversation Sam had walked away from. Sam didn't think he could be in the same vicinity as his brother without punching him.

He came into the residential area of the town and stopped a small apartment complex. At the rear was a parking lot for residents. Uncomfortable with what he was about to do, Sam surveyed the cars parked there. There was a pedestrian looking SUV that caught his attention. With a few practiced moves, Sam had the door open and the engine running. Casting the apartments an apologetic glance through the rear mirror, Sam pulled out onto the road and put pedal to metal.

Sam had to stop on the road to grab a few hours sleep when he could no longer hold back his yawns, so it wasn't until late morning that Sam pulled into Bozeman, Montana. He dumped the car at the edge of town and made his way to Amy's place on foot. He was lost in thought as he walked, so lost in thought that he didn't notice the van until it was too late.

His head snapped up as he heard the squealing brakes, and he caught sight of the driver's horrified expression even as the minivan slammed into him, throwing him against the windshield.

Sam was unaware of the screams and the slamming of car doors as people raced towards him. He didn't notice the hands pressing in on him, searching for injury. He missed the driver's frantic defense that Sam had stepped right out in front of him. He didn't hear the frantic 911 call or the sirens that portended the ambulance's arrival. He didn't feel the plastic tube as it was threaded down his throat or the regular pumps as air was pushed into his lungs. He missed all of this, as he had gone to a place within himself, away from sight, sounds, touch and most of all, pain.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta'ing this and for all her help and encouragement through the writing process. **

**Chapter Two**

Nurse Jane Haralson had just come onto her shift when the call came in for an incoming RTA. She pulled on her trauma gown and hurried to the ambulance bay to wait. Sirens heralded the ambulance's arrival, and conversation cut off abruptly as everyone prepared to do their job.

The ambulance pulled to a stop and the doors flew open.

"Hit me," the doctor in charge said as the EMTs unloaded the patient. Jane hurried to grab a side of the gurney, and she helped wheel it through to a trauma room.

"Male. Late twenties. Hit by a minivan. No spontaneous breathing and runs of tachycardia. His blood pressure bottomed out en route. Large bore IV started and fluids given," the EMT reeled off with confidence borne of years on the job.

This was the part of the job Jane hated. The list of symptoms the EMT had just shared meant that their patient was in critical condition. She had seen some people pull back from something like this, but she had seen more lost to their injuries.

"Let's get some films done," the doctor said. "And I want a shotgun run up. This kid is bleeding somewhere, and I want to know where."

A second doctor leaned over Sam, pressing a stethoscope to his chest. "Hold it for a moment!"—he held up a hand, and everyone in the room fell silent—"I'm hearing free fluid. I think we have a traumatic aortic rupture here."

"Dammit. Let's get some chest films done, and someone page cardio. This kid's OR bound."

Jane picked up the phone and dialed the code to have cardio paged to the ER. One of her colleagues brought the portable x-ray over and lined it up over Sam's chest.

The doctor in charge examined the images and sighed. "We have blood, a lot of blood. I think you're right about the rupture. Let's get this kid to the OR."—he turned to his colleague—"Nice catch. Without you, the kid would have been dead before we could have done a thing to save him."

What he didn't vocalize but what they were all thinking was that he still might be dead before they could get him to the OR. Sam was bleeding to death.

xXx

Doctor Michael Everett was good. He was more than good, he was the best in the state, but even he, with all his years of experience, felt trepidation as he stepped into the OR and snapped on his gloves. He had seen a lot over the years but he had never seen an aortic rupture this bad with a surviving patient.

The fact the boy had made it as far as the OR and was still alive was a testament to his determination to fight. Dr Everett was glad of it, as the boy was going to need that determination to make it out of this alive.

"Okay, people, we've got a rare one here, so let's get started," he said as he prepared to make the first incision.

He worked diligently, constantly alert of the boy's stats. There were a few tense moments, but the boy rallied and held his own. Much to Dr Everett's relief.

"Okay, you see how I am lining up the graft," he said, speaking to the intern at his elbow. "We need to fully occlude the leak." Everyone held their breath as the graft was placed and they all waited tensely to see if it would hold.

"Is it working?" the intern asked.

"Yes, we have a complete occlusion."

There was a brief round of applause, and Dr Everett allowed himself a small smile. The hardest part was over, for him at least. There was still a general surgery team on standby, ready to tend to the boy's abdominal injuries.

"Come off bypass?" the anesthesiologist asked.

Dr Everett nodded. "Let's see what the boy can do for himself."

"Okay, preparing to come of bypass. Fingers crossed people." There was a tense silence as the bypass machine halted. Everyone held their breath as they waited.

"No rhythm," Doctor Everett said picking up the defibrillator. "Charge. Clear."

Electrodes were pressed against Sam's heart, and a surge of electricity passed through them.

"Dammit, kid, give us something to work with here," Doctor Everett said. "Charge again."

Another surge of electricity passed through Sam's heart, and a feeble contraction came in response."

"We have rhythm," someone announced. "It's coming up. Forty…fifty… We have a pulse."

"Thank god." Doctor Everett wiped a hand over his chest, leaving a bloody trail in its wake. "Let's get him closed up."

He began the laborious task of closing Sam's incision. As he worked, he wondered about the boy on his table. Where was his family?

xXx

Jane worked alone to prepare the trauma room for the next patient. As she worked, she thought of the young man they had just treated. He had been swept away to surgery, and she wondered how he was faring.

She picked up the tattered remains of clothing—they had been cut off Sam before he was taken to surgery—and checked the pockets. She found a wallet with a Pennsylvania driver's license in it. It named their patient as John Smith. There was also a phone in the pocket, but the casing was crushed and the screen cracked.

Sighing, she set it aside and got back to work. Her gaze snapped up as Dave, one of the EMTs that had brought John Smith into the hospital, came into the room. He was carrying two bags.

"Hey, Dave." She greeted him with a smile. "What have you got there?"

"We found these on the scene. I think they belong to your John Doe."

"John Smith, actually," she said, holding up the wallet. "I found his ID."

"John Smith, huh," Dave said. "That's nice and generic. Won't make finding his family any easier."

Jane sighed. The same idea had occurred to her. Whoever John Smith was, he had a family out there, possibly already looking for him. They were needed here, but to search every Pennsylvania Smith family for a missing member wasn't practical.

"How is he?" Dave asked.

"As far as I know, he's still in surgery," Jane said.

Dean ran a hand through his hair. "He made it that far then."

Jane knew, as did Dave, that traumatic aortic ruptures rarely made it to the hospital alive, and if they did, they were extremely lucky to make it as far as the operating room. John Smith had beaten the odds so far, and Jane hoped he would continue to do so.

Seeing Jane's crestfallen expression, Dave placed a tentative hand on her shoulder. "He's made it this far. He's obviously a fighter. Maybe he can make it all the way."

"I just wish we knew where his family was," she said. "If, when, he comes out of this, he's going to need their support." She held up the wrecked phone. "This thing's no good."

"I don't know about that," Dave said with a wry smile. "My brother's a whizz with technology. He might be able to pull the numbers off the SIM card."

Jane beamed. "That would be great. I hate to think of him waking up alone."

Dave pocketed the phone. "I'll see what I can do."

At that moment, a page came through the PA system calling staff to the ambulance bay for an incoming trauma. Shooting Dave an apologetic look, Jane hurried out of the room, ready for the next emergency.

xXx

Bobby sat in front of the TV, nursing a whiskey.

The news was telling the story of the sudden demise of the Winchester brothers. His heart contracted as he thought of the boys involved in the grisly stand off the anchorwoman described. He knew they were okay, Dean had put in a call to Bobby the minute he and Sam had got clear of Ankeny, but knowing and seeing were two different things.

"Damn boys are trying to kill me," he mumbled, downing his drink.

He reached for the bottle on the table to refill his glass. Just as his fingers closed around the neck, he heard the distinctive sound of the Impala's engine. He hurried onto the porch in time to see the car pull into view through the trees. It came to a stop in front of the cabin. He sighed with relief as Dean climbed from the car, then his breath stuttered as Sam failed to appear.

"Dean, where's Sam?" he asked.

"Sulking," Dean replied.

"Want to explain that a little?"

Dean climbed the steps two at a time and strode into the small cabin. Bobby watched as Dean poured himself a generous measure of whiskey and knocked it back in one swallow.

"Well?" Bobby demanded. "Sam?"

"He's gone off on his own," Dean said, refilling his glass.

"And why the hell would he do that with all we've got going on?"

Despite his best efforts to mask it, Bobby saw the hurt in Dean's eyes. Something had happened between the brothers, and whatever it was, Dean felt guilty about it.

Dean sank down onto the threadbare couch and put his glass down on the table. "I killed something and Sam got pissy about it."

Bobby's brow furrowed with confusion. "The leviathans?"

"No, but I have a couple of heads in the trunk that need dealing with. I tell ya, Bobby, it was weird as hell decapitating myself. In fact—"

"Don't change the subject," Bobby barked. "Who did you kill, and why does Sam care?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "I was only saying…"

Bobby sighed. "Dean."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. You want to know what's wrong with Sam." He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Sam made friends with a monster, and I killed her."

"That's the cliff-notes version," Bobby said relentlessly. "I want to hear the whole tale. Consider me a captive audience."

"Okay. Years back, when Sam was still a kid, Dad and I were on a hunt for a kitsune in Nebraska. When we tracked it back to its place, it was gone. Cleared out of town. At least that's what we thought. Turns out Sam had hooked up with the daughter of the one we were chasing, and somehow she ended up killing her mother to save his life."

Bobby knew there was more to the story, but he didn't push for the details. Not yet at least.

"Remember how Sam disappeared on us before?" Dean asked, and Bobby nodded. "Well, Sam caught wind of another kitsune in the area."

"The daughter," Bobby guessed.

"The daughter. Only she's all grown up now. She was dropping bodies again, and Sam tracked her down. Only he didn't…"

"Only he didn't kill her," Bobby finished for him. He could clearly imagine Sam's dilemma. The girl had saved him once. He wouldn't feel comfortable ganking her, no matter how many bodies she racked up. The kid had a heart the size of Texas, but sometimes that was a curse as much as it was a blessing.

"I had to do it." There was a certain amount of self-justification in Dean's tone.

"I hear ya," Bobby said. "She was killing. It was the only thing to do. One thing I don't understand, if all this happened back before we had the first face off with the Leviathans, why is Sam getting upset about it now?"

Dean looked determinedly at his glass of whiskey, not speaking.

"Dean?" Bobby prompted. "Why do I get the feeling I'm missing something?"

Dean raked a hand over his face. "I didn't tell him what I did. I told Sam I'd leave it be, and then I went back and killed her."

Bobby sighed heavily. "And now he knows the truth."

Dean slugged back his whiskey and grimaced as it burned his throat. "Now he knows, and he's pissed."

"I don't blame him," Bobby said.

Dean's gaze snapped up to meet Bobby's eye. "I thought you agreed I did the right thing."

"I do. The woman was killing people. No matter how cute she was as a teenager, it doesn't change that. But lying to your brother… You have to know that's wrong."

Dean looked defensive. "Yeah, I should have told him the truth and hoped his bucket o' crazy head could handle it. It wasn't that long ago that he was seeing Lucifer and shooting at thin air. I was always going to tell him. I just wanted to make sure he wasn't still teetering on the high dive when I did."

Bobby stared Dean in the eye, and the younger man looked away, abashed.

"Feel better for saying that, do ya?"

Dean shook his head.

"No, I didn't think you would. You and I both know you had no intentions of telling him the truth. As for his 'bucket o' crazy', you wanna bite your tongue for saying that about your own brother. God knows he's a got a lot on his plate to deal with, but the point is that he is dealing. He's doing his best in a real tough situation, and I'd like to see you do better."

Dean looked at the floor, unable to meet Bobby's eye. He wanted to hold onto his self-righteous anger, but it didn't feel all that righteous anymore. Bobby was right; he shouldn't have said those things about his brother. Sam was dealing better than they had any right to expect.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

Bobby leaned across the table and refilled Dean's glass. "That's nice to hear and all, but you're saying it to the wrong person."

"I know it. I'll have a hard time saying it to Sam though. There's no way he's going to take my calls."

"Good thing you have me here then, isn't it?" Bobby picked up his phone and dialed the familiar number. It didn't even ring once before being directed to voicemail. He hung up without leaving a message.

Dean looked up Bobby set the phone down on the table. "Not answering you either?"

"Must be turned off."

Dean frowned. It wasn't like Sam to turn his phone off. Their line of work made being available at all times vital.

"I guess he's madder than you thought," Bobby said.

"Maybe," Dean said uncertainly.

"Don't worry about it," Bobby said bracingly. "He won't stay mad forever. He just needs time to cool off. You know Sam, he's got a hot head, but he couldn't hold a grudge if you gave him a bucket."

Dean laughed. "I guess you're right." Pushing himself to his feet, he made for the door again. "I better get a move on. I've got a trunkful of doppelganger heads that need burying."

Bobby grinned. "Boy, you bring me the sweetest gifts."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta'ing this and for all her help and encouragement through the writing process.**

* * *

**Chapter Three**

In a room on the third floor of Bozeman County General, a man slept.

Nurse Charlotte Gaines stepped into the room and took in the sight before her for a moment. The figure in the bed was a big man, tall and muscular, but he seemed diminished by the machinery surrounding him. He was attached to a ventilator, which made a soft whoosh-click sound as it did the work of his lungs for him. Electrodes on his chest recorded his heartbeats and transcribed them to a monitor beside the bed. His arm was encircled by a blood pressure cuff that inflated at regular intervals. There was an IV in each hand, sending vital fluids into the battered body. It was a sorry sight to see, especially as the man was so young.

Charlotte checked the chart at the end of the bed that named her new patient as John Smith. She had heard the rundown on him before her shift started. He was a post-op aortic rupture patient. A rarity. He was still sedated due to the serious nature of his condition, but they were hoping to wean him off the ventilator in the morning.

"Good evening, John," she said brightly. "I'm just going to check a few things here." Charlotte always spoke to her patients, awake or sleeping, in the same way. She believed that they could hear her no matter their level of consciousness.

She bustled around the bed, checking stats and tracing the IV lines to make sure they were clear. Everything was good, and she filled in the chart.

She was just turning to leave the room, when the heart monitor alerted her to something being wrong. She turned back to her patient. "Everything okay, John?"

Nothing was okay. At that moment, the figure on the bed began to seize.

Charlotte ran the length of the room and slammed her hand on the code button, calling her colleagues into assist. There was a rush of movement at the door as doctors and nurses flocked in.

"What do we have?" the doctor asked.

"Post op aortic transection from a RTA. Started seizing less than a minute ago."

"Any history of epilepsy?"

"None known. We don't have any medical history for him."

"Okay, let's drop five of diazepam and check for a reaction. Someone take him off vent and bag him. I want to get control of this stat. We don't need him tearing a hole in his graft."

Charlotte drew up the necessary drug from a vial and injected it into Sam's IV line.

"Let's give that a moment," the doctor said.

The room watched as Sam continued to convulse on the bed.

"No good. Drop another five of diazepam."

The drug was administered, and slowly Sam began to calm. His rigid limbs relaxed against the sheets, and the heart monitor returned to its steady rhythm.

"Okay, good work. Let's see what we have here." He pulled back Sam's eyelids and shone a light across his vision. He took one of Sam's hands in his own and ran his pen across the palm. The fingers curled in weakly against the pressure. "Has anyone done an MRI on this kid?"

"I didn't see it in the chart," Charlotte said uncomfortably.

"Well, let's get one done. I'm seeing signs of increased intracranial pressure."

Charlotte darted to the phone to put a call into radiology to inform of the incoming patient. She hoped against hope that there was another reason for her patient's seizure. As if it was his ICP and he hadn't been scanned, it meant someone was in trouble.

* * *

A nurse held up the films for Doctor Cunningham to see as he scrubbed in. "Damn, look at that bleed," he murmured. "Why wasn't this caught sooner?"

"Apparently, he came in as an RTA with a traumatic aortic rupture. I guess they were so busy plugging the dam they didn't see the other cracks."

"A rupture." The surgeon whistled. "Well, at least we know he's a fighter. He's going to need to be to come through this."

He stepped into the operating room and dried his hands on a cloth offered by a nurse. Another nurse helped him into his gown and gloves.

"Okay, people, we're working against the clock here, so let's make it matter."

He picked up his scalpel and turned his attention to his patient. "You just hang on, John."

An hour later, Doctor Cunningham had drained the excess blood from the patient's skull and was placing a catheter to monitor his ICP. The surgery had been a success, but there was no knowing what kind of damage had been done in the meantime; it had been a big bleed.

"Do you think there was much damage?" the assisting intern asked.

"There's no way of knowing until he wakes up," Doctor Cunningham said. "One thing's for sure, the legal department is going to have their hands full with this one." He examined his work one last time, satisfied that he was done, and stepped back from the table. "Someone close this for me. I've got some notes to write up." He was determined that, whatever happened to the ER and first surgical team, he wasn't going to be caught up in their mess. He had done his job.

* * *

Two weeks later, Nurse Jane Haralson was walking out to her car when she heard someone call her name. Sighing heavily—she had just finished her shift and didn't want to be called back into work—she turned to see the EMT Dave jogging towards her.

"Hey, Dave," she said with a smile.

"Hey. I was worried I missed you. I have something for you." He held out a scrap of notepaper. "My brother finally worked some magic on the cell phone you gave me."

Jane's eyes widened. "John Smith?"

"The very same."

As a patient that she had only minimal contact with, John Smith would have been forgotten easily had it not been for the trouble that came after. There had been an oversight in his care, and it had almost killed him. The ER doctors were all on edge, waiting to see what would happen to them. It made for a tense working environment.

Jane had heard that John Smith's family had still not been found, which made the tension even higher, as no one knew what would happen once they learned of their family member's condition.

"You have a number?" she asked.

"I have a bunch. We got an I.C.E number for someone named Bobby. Weird thing is, we've got no family names on there, no mom or dad."

"Maybe he doesn't have a family," Jane said somewhat sadly. "He could be all alone. He is at the moment anyway."

"Not for long," Dave said. "He has this Bobby character. I say we call him up."

Jane was tempted, sorely tempted. She wanted to be the one to find John Smith's family for him, but she wasn't the right person to make the call. Shrugging her shoulders, she took the paper from Dave and headed into the hospital again.

"Where are you going?" Dave called after her.

"The ICU. I am going to give this to John's charge nurse."

"I don't get to see how the story ends?"

"Afraid not. I'll tell you what happens."

Disappointed, Dave went back to the ambulance bay, wondering how he could initiate a new conversation with Jane. He had banked on being the hero that brought John Smith's family to him to gain her favor. Now he would have to think of something else.

Jane took the elevator up to the third floor and stepped out onto the ICU ward. The ward was quiet, belying to the amount of activity in each of the rooms she passed. There was always something quiet about the ICU. It was as if people were worried a harsh word or loud noise could cause the people clinging to life in each room to fail.

She scurried along the corridor to the nurse's station. The charge nurse, Beth Sinclair, looked up at her arrival.

"Jane, we don't see you up here often. Everything okay?"

"Yes. I have the details for John Smith's emergency contact. One of the EMT's, Dave, worked some magic with his busted phone. I was wondering how John was, too. I was on shift when he came into the ER."

"John Smith." Beth sighed. "He's not doing so good. They removed the ICP catheter this morning, he returned to normal, but he still isn't showing signs of waking."

"How's his brain function?" Jane asked.

"That's the thing. His activity is off the charts. He's not impaired as far as we can tell. He just isn't waking."

"Maybe he needs something to wake up for, some familiar voices," Jane suggested.

"Could be. Lord knows I've seen stranger things happen."

Jane held out the paper with John Smith's contacts on it. "Well, here you are."

Beth examined the list of names and numbers. "That's odd. No mom or dad. Not many girl names either. Our Mr. Smith is certainly a mystery.

"Are you going to make the call?" Jane asked hopefully.

Beth picked up the phone. "Sure. I think he's been alone long enough."

She dialed the number for Bobby and waited while it rang.

* * *

"Say what you like about psychics, they know how to keep things interesting," Bobby said.

Dean grunted in response, and Bobby sighed. He knew where Dean's thoughts were, and they weren't with their recent hunt in Lily Dale.

Bobby knew Dean had been hoping they would come across Sam. The psychic deaths had made the national news, and it smacked of the supernatural. But, for whatever reason, Sam hadn't tracked the hunt, and they were back to twiddling their thumbs and waiting.

"He'll call when he's ready," Bobby said.

"You've been saying that for two weeks," Dean said. "And he still hasn't called."

"He's obviously not ready yet," Bobby said reasonably.

Dean exhaled in a gust. He was worried Sam would never be ready. He had tried calling Sam's cell a hundred times and had been put straight through to voicemail every time.

"So, where next?" Bobby asked.

"I thought you wanted to get back to Montana."

Dean had called Bobby out when he caught wind of the hunt in Lily Dale. He could probably have handled it alone, but that didn't mean he wanted to. He liked working with a partner, and since his usual partner MIA he had called on Bobby who had made it clear this was a onetime deal.

"Let's just say, hunting with you wasn't the nightmare I expected. Besides, it's been a while since I have been on the road; it's not all bad."

"Yeah, crappy motels and bad diner food." Dean scoffed. "It's the good life."

"Quit bitchin'. You wouldn't have it any other way, and you know it."

"I don't know, Bobby. I'm getting tired of the life. It seems no matter what we give up, there is still more to lose."

Bobby knew exactly where Dean's thoughts were heading, and it was dangerous territory.

"You haven't lost Sam. He's just taking time out to deal with some stuff. He'll be back soon enough."

Dean gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. Soon wasn't enough for Dean. He wanted Sam back now so he could kick his ass for worrying him. As he was worried, not to mention guilty. He knew he had done the right thing in killing Amy, but he felt bad about lying to his brother about it. Those lies had dropped him in the crap-storm he was currently living in. Not knowing where his brother was or what he was doing. Sam may be 'dealing' but he still had Lucifer and a head full of hell rattling around his brain. Anything could be happening to him.

"You didn't answer my question," Bobby said. "Where are we heading next?"

"Vegas!" Sudden inspiration struck Dean. "I say we head west and blow our stack on the tables."

Bobby frowned. "Isn't that something you and Sam usually do together?"

Dean focused on the road, avoiding Bobby's scrutiny. "Maybe."

"And you want to one up your brother by taking me instead?"

"I never said that," Dean said defensively.

"But you were thinking it." Bobby cursed under his breath. "Dammit, boy, what's going on in that head of yours?"

"I'm thinking that I'm tired of waiting for him to call, Bobby. I'm tired of worrying that he's off somewhere with only the voices in his head for company."

"That's enough!" Bobby snapped, finally driven past his point of patience. "Your brother isn't crazy."

"I didn't say—"

"I'm talking!" Bobby growled. "He's not crazy, and he's not a child. He can take care of himself. If he's decided he needs time away, that's his choice to make. No amount of tantrum throwing from you is going to change that. Now suck it up and act like a man."

Dean bit back his anger at being spoken to like a child. Bobby had a temper, and while it didn't show itself often, when it did it was better to sit down and shut up.

Bobby was still breathing heavily, but he battled to calm himself. "Now, let's get ourselves back to the cabin. We can regroup from there."

Dean dutifully turned onto the highway and flicked on the radio. He had a feeling conversation wasn't on the cards for a while.

* * *

They had to stop overnight in Minnesota for sleep and food, so it wasn't until late evening that they crossed the state line into Montana.

"I'm bushed," Dean said, raking a hand over his face.

"You want me to take a turn?" Bobby asked.

Dean shook his head. He was used to being in the driver's seat. Despite the fact he was no longer using his baby—they had stolen a crappy Ford on their way out of Lily Dale—he wasn't going to ride shotgun.

"Then quit bitching," Bobby snapped. He didn't much like being the passenger, but he let Dean drive in hopes that it would distract him from his worry for Sam.

Bobby was confident that Sam was fine despite the fact they hadn't heard news of him. He was a capable kid and had survived alone before now. He just needed some time to think. In his position, Bobby would want some time alone, too. Admittedly, the fact his phone was turned off was troubling, as was the fact he hadn't called Bobby to check in on the leviathan situation, but Bobby wasn't worried. At least that's what he told himself.

At Dean's suggestion, they stopped in Billings for breakfast. They found a small diner, and Dean pulled the stolen car up in front. Bobby's joints creaked as he climbed from the car. It had been a while since he had pulled a road trip like this.

They had just settled into a booth when Bobby's phone rang. Dean's head snapped up, hoping it was Sam. When Bobby shook his head, Dean returned his attention to the menu.

Bobby didn't recognize the number, but it was local, so he took the call thinking Sam might be using a phone booth to call as his cell had been out of service. "Bobby Singer."

"Hello, Mr. Singer. This is Beth Sinclair. I am calling from Bozeman County General. Do you know a John Smith?"

"John Smith?" Bobby said skeptically.

Dean's head snapped up and he nodded vigorously. "It's Sam's new alias," he whispered.

"Yeah, I know John. What's happened to him?" Bobby asked.

Dean's heart sank at Bobby's words. What was wrong with Sam? He wanted to snatch the phone from Bobby and demand information from whoever was calling, demand information about Sam, but he resisted the urge. It wouldn't get them the information any faster.

"He's been involved in an accident. Can you come?"

"Of course," Bobby said. "I'll be there right away."

"Thank you, Mr. Singer."

Bobby ended the call and turned haunted eyes to Dean.

"What's happened?" Dean demanded, his fear making his voice hoarse. "What's wrong?"

"It's Sam. He's been in an accident."


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta'ing this and for all her help and encouragement through the writing process.**

* * *

**Chapter Four**

Dean's knuckles were white on the steering wheel as he drove, and his heart was thumping against his ribcage.

Sam had been in an accident. Sam was hurt.

The words didn't make sense. Sam was supposed to be out there somewhere in a snit. He wasn't supposed to be in a hospital.

"Tell me what they said," Dean demanded.

"I already told ya. They said he had been in an accident and that he's in Bozeman County General. That's all they said."

"That can't be all!"

"I'm telling you it is. Look, boy, I know you're scared, but panicking isn't going to get us there any faster."

Bobby was scared, too. The fact it was a nurse and not Sam himself that had called with the news meant that Sam was in a bad way. How bad, Bobby didn't want to think. He remembered nothing of leaving the diner and getting into the car. Everything had taken on a surreal feeling as if it was a dream. But this was no dream; it was a nightmare.

Dean slammed his foot down on the accelerator. He couldn't seem to make the car go fast enough. He wished for his baby. She would have got them there faster than the paltry pace the Ford was capable of. They were two hours out of Bozeman, and no journey had ever seemed longer.

"They didn't even say what kind of accident?" Dean asked.

"Could be anything." Bobby clasped his hands between his knees. "He could have been hurt in a hunt."

Dean blanched. He knew the creatures they came across and the damage they could do. Images of Sam covered in blood with gored flesh flashed through his mind, and he swallowed thickly.

"I'm sure he's okay," Bobby said bracingly. "He's probably just got a busted leg or something."

Dean nodded. That had to be it. He knew how miserable Sam would be with a broken leg. It wasn't that long ago that Dean himself had got his cast off, but that was better than what he was imagining. He fixed the image of Sam with a casted leg in his mind to stave off the other horrific images his mind had to offer.

Bobby rallied for a topic that would draw Dean's mind from the dark path he was sure they were on. "What do you think he's doing in Bozeman anyway?"

Dean thought for a moment. "Maybe he was on his way home. You said he'd come back when he was ready; maybe he was finally ready. It's been a couple of weeks after all."

It was a pleasant thought that Sam was finally ready to forgive and forget. It made Dean feel better. As it was, he was worried enough about seeing his brother, he didn't want to think that Sam would still be angry with him when he did.

Thoughts of Sam's anger toward him took Dean's thoughts on a different path, a different reason for Sam being in Bozeman.

"Dammit!" he hissed.

"What? What is it?"

"He wasn't coming back to us. He was going after the kid."

"What kid?"

"The kitsune I killed, Amy, she had a kid."

"You killed a mother?" There was no judgment in Bobby's tone, only shock. He was surprised that Dean, having lost his own mother, would be able to do that.

Dean didn't hear the subtle nuance of emotion in Bobby's tone; he only heard the shock. "I had no choice, Bobby. She was killing people."

"No judgment here, son," Bobby said, raising his hands.

Dean scoffed. "Sure there isn't."

"Oh, give it up," Bobby snapped. "Tell me about this kid."

Dean held back a shudder. Killing Amy wasn't one of his proudest moments, despite the fact he did it for the right reasons, and having her son witness the act was one of the decidedly darker moments of his life.

"The kid was there," he said quietly, fixing his eyes firmly on the road ahead. "Her son, Jacob, he was there and saw what I did. What if Sam went back for him?"

"You think he was the one that hurt Sam? But he's just a kid."

"Twelve or thirteen, maybe. But he said…" Dean swallowed. "He said he'd kill me one day. What if Sam came first instead?"

Bobby's mind automatically shied away from thoughts of how Sam had come to be hurt, but he forced it to consider the possibility. Dean said the boy was young, twelve or thirteen. That was young, but kitsunes had formidable strength. Enough to overpower Sam?

"I don't think so," he said slowly. "You managed to overpower the mother, and no offence, but Sam is much stronger than you. He's more than capable of protecting himself against a kid."

"A kid with claws," Dean said. His mind was awash with new images. Sam laid out on a mortuary slab. He flinched and the car swerved into the other lane. He corrected it instantly, but not before Bobby had muttered a low oath and cast him a panicked look.

"An ambulance will definitely get us there faster," he said. "But we won't be much good to Sam if you lay us both up wrapping the car around the guardrail."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Thanks for that, Bobby. I never would have thought of that on my own."

"Now listen to me, boy. I know you're scared, I am too, but you talk to me like that again, and I'll whoop your ass."

Dean laughed. It wasn't a true laugh, it had a hint of hysteria to it, but it was a laugh nonetheless.

Bobby looked at him, concern furrowing his brow. "Dean?"

"I'm fine," he snapped. "Me, I'm fine. My brother, on the other hand, is stuck in a hospital and this piece of crap car is incapable of getting us there in time."

"In time for what?" Bobby asked worriedly. "I'm sure he's fine, Dean. We'll get there and find him sitting up in bed and bitching about the bad food. He'll be absolutely fine."

Bobby knew he was rambling, but he couldn't stop himself. Dean's fear was infecting him. He was now being assaulted by his own images of a mortally injured Sam.

"You really think he's okay?" Dean asked in a soft tone. He was like a child seeking reassurance that the monster under the bed wasn't real. Except it was real. Sam was hurt, and nothing Bobby could say would change that.

Bobby knew that, and yet he tried to reassure Dean anyway. "I'm sure he is."

Nodding to himself, and trying to block the images in his mind, Dean steered them towards Bozeman and Sam.

* * *

In a quiet room of the Bozeman County General Charlotte bustled around the bed of John Smith. She rearranged his blankets and checked his stats recorded on the monitor beside the bed. All was well, or as well as was to be expected in the situation.

"You should have visitors soon, John," she said. "We finally found Bobby."

John Smith slept on, unaware of what she was saying.

"We're wondering who Bobby is, of course," she continued. "Is he family or a friend? Whoever he is, he's coming to see you. It would be great if you could wake up for him. I bet he'd like to talk to you when he arrives."

She searched the patient for any sign of reaction, but there was none. She didn't really expect any, he was deeply unconscious, but it did no harm to hope.

"We can at least make you presentable for your company," she said.

She pulled the privacy curtain around the bed, and set about bathing her patient. He was a powerfully built man, muscular and tall. She wondered how he would look standing. As she ran the washcloth over his abdomen, she noticed something amiss. His abdomen was distended. Feeling a surge of panic, she slammed her hand on the call button, summoning help.

Another nurse rushed into the room. "What's wrong?"

"His abdomen. It looks distended."

The second nurse, Beth, examined the patient. "You're right. Someone page Doctor Saunders. I think we have a bleed here."

Charlotte gulped. She had feared as much. She was scared for her patient, but she was also scared for herself. The oversight that had almost killed John Smith—the lack of an MRI—had been bad, and the ER team were still waiting on tenterhooks to see what would happen about it. If there had been a secondary abdominal bleed that had been missed, it meant the ICU team were liable.

"Hey!" Beth snapped her fingers in front of Charlotte's face. "Don't worry about that now. We need to help him."

Charlotte nodded, and drew up a vial of blood from John Smith's IV to send to the lab. If John Smith was bleeding out, there would be signs.

At that moment, Doctor Saunders bustled into the room. "What have we got here?" she asked.

"We're seeing distention in the abdomen. We're thinking…."

"A bleed." The doctor sighed and raked a hand through her hair. "Okay, let's get him down to radiology to see what we've got. Have you drawn blood?"

Charlotte nodded and held up the vial.

"Good. Let's get that off to the lab and him to the scanner. If we're right, he's OR bound."

There was a flurry of movement in the room as orderlies arrived to take John Smith away.

Both nurses watched him wheeled away, and their thoughts both dwelled on what had happened and what it could mean for John Smith.

Throughout it all, John Smith slept on, unaware of the latest crisis. Not knowing that his family was frantically driving to him at that moment.

* * *

Dean pulled the Ford to a halt in the parking lot of the hospital and jumped from the car. He was close to Sam now, and his patience was gone.

Bobby followed him out and together they jogged through the main doors of the ER. They were sure that was where they would find Sam.

They burst into the lobby and made their way to the front desk. The receptionist's head snapped up at their noisy arrival.

"My brother, John Smith," Dean panted. "We got a call."

The receptionist blanched. News had spread through the hospital of John Smith and what had happened to him. Even she, inculpable as she was, had been dreading the arrival of his family. She had friends within the ER team that had treated him.

Dean saw her color fade and his heart contracted painfully. Were they too late? The thought stole the strength from his legs and it was only his grip on the desk that kept him standing. Bobby braced a hand on his shoulder in a mute gesture of comfort.

"John Smith," Bobby prompted. "Where is he?"

The receptionist checked the computer for the information. The last she'd heard, John Smith had been in the ICU, but she didn't want to send these dangerous looking men to the wrong place. There had already been too many mistakes where John Smith was concerned.

"He's on the third floor, ICU," she said.

All color leeched from Dean's face. ICU was bad. ICU meant that Sam was bad.

In that moment, Dean wanted to be anywhere but in that hospital. He would rather face a hundred leviathans than face the fact that his brother was so gravely injured.

"If you take the elevator up to the third floor, someone will be able to help you," the receptionist said. She wanted the men away. They were making her nervous. Especially the younger of the two. There was something about him that didn't bode well for the people that had failed in John Smith's care.

"Thank you," Bobby said automatically. He took Dean's arm and led him to the bank of elevators. He pressed the button and waited for the car to arrive. "He's gonna be okay," he said in a soft tone. He was reassuring himself as much as he was reassuring Dean. "He's strong."

Dean nodded, trying to believe Bobby's words. Sam was strong. Dean knew that better than anyone. Sam had beaten the devil after all. But that didn't comfort him much at the moment. This wasn't like facing a fallen archangel. This was dealing with physical injury, and Sam was only human.

The elevator car arrived, and Dean and Bobby stepped in. Bobby pressed the button for the third floor and kept one hand tight on Dean's shoulder. He had a very real fear that if he didn't keep contact with the younger man, he would shatter into a thousand pieces.

They stepped out of the elevator and into a different world. Unlike the ER with its hustle and bustle, everything here was quiet and muted.

Beth, standing at the nurse's station, looked up at their arrival and walked towards them. She suspected that this was Bobby Singer, but she didn't know the other man.

"Can I help you?"

"My brother," the younger man croaked. "John Smith. We were told he was here."

Beth was surprised but pleased to learn that John Smith had family after all. It didn't help her immediate predicament though. She had to tell them that their loved one was in surgery. Again.

"If you can come with me," she said, gesturing them towards the family room. "I can page a doctor to speak with you."

"I don't want to see a doctor," Dean snapped. "I want to see my brother."

Dr Saunders stepped out of a patient's room at that moment. She knew immediately that this was John Smith's family without Beth's explanation.

"I'm Doctor Christine Saunders," she said to the two men. "If you could come with me, I can explain everything."

Dean had a mulish expression that Bobby recognized at once. It spelled trouble.

"C'mon, Dean," he said. "Let's go somewhere private so we can talk."

"I don't want to talk," Dean said. "I want to see my brother."

"I'm afraid you can't, Mr. Smith." Doctor Saunders said.

"Why the hell not?" Dean demanded.

Doctor Saunders drew a deep breath. "Because he's still in surgery."

Dean's hands fisted at his sides. "What the _hell_ happened to my brother?"

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that has reviewed. I smile every time I open my inbox. If you have enjoyed the chapter, please take a moment to review. I really do appreciate it. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta'ing this and for all her help and encouragement through the writing process.**

**I have been blown away by the response this story has got. Thank you to everyone that is reading, and especially those that review. I love each and every one.  
**

* * *

**Chapter Five**

"Mr. Smith, if you'd just come with me, we can speak privately," Doctor Saunders implored.

It was taking considerable restraint for Dean to not lose control of his temper completely. "I don't want to speak privately, dammit. I want to know what happened to my brother."

"And I will tell you," she said. "If you would just come with me."

"I'm not going anywhere with—"

"Dammit, Dean, come on," Bobby snarled. "Not here."

Bobby grabbed Dean's arm and tugged him towards the door the doctor was gesturing to. Dean allowed himself to be moved. The doctor opened the door and they filed in. Bobby sank down onto one of the cushioned chairs, and the doctor sat opposite him. Dean remained on his feet. He paced back and forth like a caged animal.

"Now, tell me what happened to my brother," Dean demanded.

"As I said, my name is Doctor Saunders. I have been in charge of John's care since he was admitted to the ICU."

Something in her wording alerted Bobby to the fact Sam had been here longer than they thought. "How long has he been here?" he asked.

The doctor paused for a moment, and Dean halted his pacing and stared at her. "How long?" His voice was a low croak, as if all the strength needed to form words had been stolen from him.

"He was admitted to the ER on the thirteenth."

Dean cursed. That was the day he and Sam had separated. This whole time Dean had been thinking Sam was out there in a snit, when really, he had been in hospital, alone. Dean had been laughing and joking with Bobby about the psychics in Lily Dale while Sam had been lying in a hospital bed.

"Alone," he breathed, turning haunted eyes to Bobby. "He's been here the whole time alone."

Bobby's eyes held the same horror as Dean's."It's…" He trailed off. He didn't know what to say. It's okay? That was a lie. Nothing was okay. Everything was wrong.

Doctor Saunders wanted to tell them that Sam hadn't been alone, that he had been taken care of, but how could she possibly say that when he was in the OR again, fighting for life, because of another oversight in his care. She couldn't reassure them, so she redirected.

"John was involved in a RTA. He was hit by a car. Upon admission to the ER, it was discovered he had an aortic rupture."

"What does that mean?" Dean asked. He was trying to wrap his mind around the fact Sam had been hit by a car. Of all the things that could happen to him in their line of work, it was a bad driver that had taken him out. It was ludicrous.

"It means there was a tear in John's aorta. It's a common injury in road traffic accidents. You must understand, this injury is almost always fatal. John showed remarkable strength to make it to the hospital, let alone through the surgery needed to correct it."

Dean smiled grimly. He knew Sam was a fighter. He always had been. He had needed to be to make it through everything he had. Knowing that Sam was a fighter didn't make it any easier to hear how bad things had been though. He didn't want to think of his brother fighting for his life. He _couldn't_ think of it. It would sap the last of his strength.

"There was also internal damage to his liver, intestine and pancreas which was surgically corrected." Doctor Saunders said.

"So he had the surgery, and now he's okay?" he said, unable to keep the longing out of his voice.

"He came through the surgery," the doctor said. "And that in itself was a remarkable achievement. But there was a complication."

Any hopeful optimism Dean and Bobby had accrued listening to the tale so far disappeared at those words.

The last of Dean's strength faded, and he sank down on a chair. Bobby reached out and squeezed his arm, hoping to comfort the younger man. He knew in his heart that it was futile. There was no comfort to be had here. The only thing that could help Dean was seeing his brother, and from the sounds of it, that may not be as easy as he hoped.

"What…?" Dean faltered. "What complication?"

"John was discovered to have an epidural hematoma. A bleed in his brain."

"That sounds serious," Bobby said.

"It is," the doctor said gravely. "Surgery was performed to drain the bleed."

"Brain surgery!" Dean gulped. "He had brain surgery."

Bobby heart sank. This was so much more that a busted leg.

Dean hid his face in his hands. He couldn't bear to look at Bobby and see the same horror he felt reflected in his eyes. He needed to see his brother. He couldn't bear to sit here and hear more of what Sam had suffered while they were apart. Why had Dean let him go? It was rule one: take care of Sammy. He had failed so many times already, and this was one time too many. He couldn't take anymore, though he knew there was more to hear.

"The surgery was a success," Doctor Saunders said, knowing that there was more bad news to share and wanting to give them the positive while it was possible. "John came through it well and was healing nicely."

"How is he though?" Dean asked. "Brain surgery is bad, right? Is he okay? There's no… damage, right?" He had watched enough TV to know that brain surgery came with inherent risks.

"Until he regains consciousness it will be impossible to tell for sure. We have been monitoring his brain waves using an EEG and there is activity. He's not brain dead."

Bobby and Dean exhaled in unison. It was an unspoken fear that they had shared, that Sam would be damaged beyond repair.

"So…" Dean said, trying to corral his scattered thoughts. "The surgery he's having now, what's that for?"

"This afternoon it was discovered that John had a bleed in his intestine."

"Hold up! I thought you said he'd already had surgery on his intestine," Bobby said.

"He did, but there was a complication."

"Another damn complication," Bobby snarled. "What the hell happened this time?"

"There was a slow bleed from one of the areas that had been repaired. It is being corrected as we speak."

Bobby wondered how much more they could stand to hear. He knew Dean was hanging on by a thread. One more knock and he could lose it completely.

"How long will he be in surgery?" Dean asked, wanting to know when he would be able to see his brother.

"He's been in for a while," Doctor Saunders began, "so it shouldn't be much longer. I can call down to the OR for an update if it would help."

Bobby nodded. "Yeah, you do that."

The doctor got to her feet and left the two men alone in the room.

Dean was still hiding his face in his hands. He didn't have the strength to raise his head to look at Bobby.

Bobby curled an arm around Dean's shoulders, noting the taut set of the younger man's muscles.

"He's alive," he said.

"For how long?" Dean asked. He battled to raise his head and look at Bobby. "How long can he go on?"

"You heard the doctor; she said Sam's been fighting. He's still fighting. He won't give up, so neither will we."

"You think I'm giving up?" Dean's tone was horrorstruck.

"I think you're falling into a pit," Bobby said. "And I'm right there with ya, but losing ourselves isn't going to help Sam. He's fought this far, and we will help him keep fighting."

Bobby was tempted to allow himself to give into the despair as Dean had, but one of them had to be strong. The idea of Sam fighting for his life was frightening, but Bobby knew Sam was strong. He'd come through plenty worse, and he would come through this.

"He's been all alone, Bobby," Dean said mournfully. "All this time. And we…"

"We didn't know. I know how you feel, Dean. I love that kid like one of my own, and I'm scared too, but we have to be strong. Like Sam was for you."

Dean's thoughts travelled back through the years to the car accident that had almost killed him. Sam hadn't given up then; he had fought for Dean, fought to find a way to communicate with him as he lingered in the place between life and death. Sam hadn't given up then, and Dean wouldn't give up now.

Dean stretched his arms out in front of him, feeling his joints pop. "Strong. I can do that. But what do we do now?"

"We wait for that doctor to get back and tell us what's happening with Sam. Hopefully he'll be out soon, and we'll be able to see him. Things will feel better once we've seen him."

Dean nodded and leaned back in his chair. All that there was to do now was wait.

And so they did. Neither of them knowing that at that moment the third member of their family was slipping away from them.

* * *

Doctor Saunders tapped her fingers against the desk as she waited for someone to pick up the phone. The call went unanswered, and she set the phone down with a heavy sigh.

Something was wrong.

She hesitated for a moment. She could go back into the family room without news and face the hostile stares of the two men, or she could go down to the OR and see what was happening. There was no choice to make.

Informing the charge nurse that she would be off the floor, she headed to the bank of elevators.

* * *

In the operating room, the phone went unanswered as everyone there had more pressing concerns.

"Hold CPR for a moment," the surgeon ordered.

The nurse doing chest compressions stepped back from the patient and waited.

"Dammit. PEA. Drop another epi."

A nurse drew up the required drug and injected it through Sam's IV line. There was a pause as they all waited to see whether the heart would react. There was no reaction, and the surgeon stepped in and took over compressions.

"How long has he been down?"

The anesthesiologist checked the clock. "Nine minutes and counting."

The surgeon looked down at his patient. He was fading fast. If they didn't get him back soon, there would be no point. He would be too damaged.

"Charge to three hundred." The surgeon took the proffered paddles from the nurse and positioned them over the patient's chest. "Clear!"

Sam's back arched from the table as the electrical current rushed through him and then slammed back down.

"Anything?" the surgeon asked.

"Nothing. Ten minutes now."

The nurse compressing the bag feeding air into Sam's lungs looked across the table at the surgeon. He looked defeated.

"Charge again!"

The current once again pulsed through Sam and he arched up from the table.

The surgeon stepped forward to restart compressions, but the anesthesiologist held up a hand.

"Hold it! We have something here. Yep. We have a pulse."

The room watched the monitor as Sam's pulse climbed to hover at sixty.

"We've got him back. Now let's close him up before something else goes wrong."

Doctor Saunders, watching from the scrub room, sighed with relief. Then she tensed again as she realized she had to deliver the news of this latest crisis to John Smith's family.

Wanting to have all the information available for the family, she waited in the scrub room for the surgeon to come out.

"Hey, Marcus," she greeted him as he pulled off his mask and tossed it into the trash. "What happened in there?"

"One moment he was fine, I was just closing the last bleeder, the next minute he was crashing."

"Hypovolemia?"

"That's what we are treating for. He's got a unit of blood going in now, and we've called down for more."

Doctor Saunders sighed. It seemed the bad news kept on coming with John Smith.

"What are you doing here anyway?" the surgeon asked. "Don't unusually see you off the wing."

"I've been with his family and they wanted an update." She paused for a moment. "Truth is. I needed a break. They're a little intimidating, especially with everything that's happened."

"Yeah. Hospital grapevine has been going overdrive with John Smith's story. Does the family know yet?"

"Not yet. Legal have been informed of their arrival, and they are going to send someone to speak with the family once they've had a chance to get to grips with all this. I better head up there now and fill them in."

The surgeon laughed harshly. "Well, good luck with that."

* * *

Doctor Saunders found Dean and Bobby sitting in silence in the family room when she reached them thirty minutes later. She wanted to see John Smith into recovery before she came back to them. She didn't want to bring them news only to hear that he had crashed again. One thing she had learned about John Smith was that he never did what was expected.

"How is he?" Dean asked at once.

"He's in recovery, and he is doing well, all things considered."

"All things considered?" Bobby noted her choice of words. "What happened?"

Dean's attention snapped between Bobby and the doctor. His heart contracted in his chest.

"There was a complication in the surgery," the doctor said. "At one point, they lost pulse."

Dean sank back into his seat and fisted his shaking hands at his forehead. The bad kept on coming, and he didn't know how much more he could handle.

"I don't want you to panic. He's okay now. The OR team were able to get his heart beating again, and he's holding his own."

"Why is this happening?" Bobby asked. "Why all these complications? He's a healthy kid. Or at least he was."

Doctor Saunders sighed heavily. This was the moment she was dreading. "I'm not the person to talk to you about this. Someone from legal will come to speak to you…"

"Legal? You're telling me that someone screwed up?" Dean shot to his feet. "That this is someone's fault?"

Bobby shot to his feet too and laid a restraining hand on Dean's chest. "Calm down, son."

"Calm down? Are you hearing what they're telling us? Someone did this to my brother."

"I'm hearing, but we need to stay calm. Be strong. Remember?"

Dean exhaled heavily and nodded. "Okay, I'm calm."

Bobby nodded approvingly. "That's good." He turned his attention to the doctor again. "I'm sure this legal thing is important, but right now, we just want to see… John." He caught himself at the last minute to stop himself saying Sam.

"He will be in recovery for at least another hour, but then you can see him."

"More waiting." Dean sighed.

"I know it's hard," Bobby said. "But we'll be with him soon enough."

No matter how soon it was, it wouldn't be soon enough for Dean. Having heard everything Sam had been through, Dean knew he wouldn't be able to relax until he was with his brother again.

* * *

After two hours waiting, Doctor Saunders came back into the family room.

"We have John settled in his room again if you would like to see him."

Dean and Bobby were on their feet before the words had finished leaving her lips. She gestured for them to follow her out of the room and down the hall.

Dean's feet felt leaden as he walked along the hall. He couldn't seem to draw enough air into his lungs. He was about to see Sam, and he was terrified. Until then, he had been able to convince himself that it wasn't as bad as he was imagining. Now, the blindfold was coming off, and he would have to face the truth.

The doctor paused at the door to Sam's room. "You should prepare yourselves. It can come as a shock to—"

"It's okay, Doc," Bobby said. "We know what to expect."

That wasn't entirely true, but Bobby didn't think he or Dean could stand to hear a list of Sam's injuries, not again.

The doctor pushed the door open, and their ears were met with a cacophony of noise. Machines beeped, hummed, and clicked. Dean took an involuntary step back. He wasn't ready to face that room and what it contained. He had no choice, though. Sam was in that room, and Dean had already failed him enough; he needed to be strong now for his brother.

He took one step forward into the room and froze in place. The figure on the bed couldn't be his brother. It was impossible. There was no way Sam could ever look so vulnerable. He was surrounded by a bank of machinery. His face was almost completely occluded by the mask holding the tube in his throat.

Dean wavered as he realized that tube was breathing for Sam. That Sam couldn't do it for himself.

Bobby stepped in behind Dean and sucked in a harsh breath between his teeth. He too couldn't believe that it was Sam on the bed. His boy couldn't look like _that_.

"I'll give you come privacy," Doctor Saunders said. She stepped back into the hall and closed the door gently behind her.

Bobby stepped up to the bed, noting the tubes and wires that surrounded Sam's form, and looked down at his surrogate son. "What have you done to yourself, Sam," he asked in a hoarse voice. The only response was a shaky breath being drawn behind him. He turned and saw Dean standing at the door with one hand on the doorknob.

Bobby shook his head firmly. He understood Dean's desire to run, but it wouldn't help him. It would make things worse if he abandoned his brother now.

"It's still him," Bobby said. "It's still Sam."

Dean shook his head mutely. He couldn't make himself move to stand any closer to his brother. It was if his feet and been glued to the floor. Because Bobby was wrong, that wasn't Sammy. Sam was a virile man, constantly talking and questioning and moving. He couldn't sit still for a minute. There was no way that was his brother lying on the bed.

Bobby came to stand beside him and he gripped Dean's shoulder. "You can't run, boy. Sam needs you. You can do this. Now come see your brother."

Drawing strength from Bobby, Dean stepped forward slowly. The closer he drew to his brother, the more his trepidation grew. As he took the final step that brought him to his brother's side, he swallowed.

Dean examined his brother carefully. There was a gauze pad on his temple. Dean surmised that it was from the surgery they had mentioned. The sheet covering him was pulled down to his waist, and Dean could see another dressing covering the Sam's chest and another, fresh looking one on his abdomen. There were faded bruises covering his torso. Dean tried not to think how much worse these would have looked in the immediate days after the accident. Sam's face was unmarred by injury. It was lax and void of all emotion. His lips were slightly parted by the tube that ran down his throat. Dean imagined how uncomfortable that must be, and he flinched.

Bobby saw Dean flinch, and he knew the boy was suffering. He put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

"You okay, son?" he asked.

Dean turned to Bobby, and the older man saw the desperation in Dean's eyes. He wished there was a way to help him, but he knew there was none. The only person that could help Dean was Sam.

"I don't know what to do," Dean moaned. "How do I help him?"

"Talk to him," Bobby said gently. "Let him know you're here."

Dean looked down at his brother and sighed. What was he supposed to say? Could Sam even hear him?

Bobby saw Dean's hesitation, and he took the lead for him. "It's good to see you, Sam, though it would be a whole lot better if you were awake. How's about you crack open those eyes."

Dean watched, a small part of him hoping that Bobby's words would reach his brother. There was no response from Sam though. He remained quiescent on the bed. The only movement the rise and fall of his chest as the ventilator forced air into his lungs.

The gravity of the situation suddenly fell upon Dean and his knees weakened. Bobby pushed a chair behind Dean, just in time to catch him as his legs gave way beneath him. Dean crumpled into the chair and his forehead fell onto the side of the bed, inches from Sam's unmoving hand.

"Oh, Sammy," he croaked. "What the hell happened to you?"

He took Sam's limp hand into his own and manipulated the fingers so they were entwined. The lack of grip from his brother stole the last of his reserves, and he felt tears prick in his eyes. He made no attempt to halt their flow. There was no shame in crying now, not when he was crying for his brother. His breaths became gasps and the tears fell in vain.

Bobby pulled off his baseball cap and ran his fingers through his hair. Tears pooled at the corner of his eyes, and he wiped them away with a shaking hand. He didn't know what to do to help either of his boys other than being there for them, and even that felt like it was a waste of time. Seeing Dean gripping his brother's hand, he knew that Dean was oblivious to his presence. All he was seeing was Sam.

* * *

Charlotte paused at the room door and looked through the window. She knew she should go in and check on John Smith, but she didn't want to interrupt the private moment inside the room. The younger of the two men was holding John Smith's hand against his forehead and his lips were moving, though she couldn't hear what he was saying. The older man was standing with his arms across his chest. It would have looked like a hostile stance had it not been for the trembling in his hands. He was holding himself together.

Bobby turned and saw her standing at the door. With a lazy move of his arm, he gestured for her to come inside.

Charlotte turned the doorknob and stepped inside. She plastered a smile on her face and tried not to be intimidated by the two dangerous looking men. The younger of the two didn't look up as she came in. All his focus was on the man in the bed.

"I'm Charlotte, and I'm taking care of John today," she said.

"I'm Bobby," the older man said, "John's uncle, and this here's Dean, his brother."

"I just need to check a few things," she said, picking up the chart from the end of the bed and flipping it open.

Bobby stepped back, but Dean remained in place beside Sam. Bobby stepped around the bed and tugged on Dean's arm. "C'mon, son, let's give her room to work."

"I'm not leaving him," Dean said hoarsely.

"You don't have to leave," Charlotte reassured him. "It'll just take a moment."

Dean allowed himself to be led away from the bed. He positioned himself by the window and crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes stayed trained on his brother, as if he would disappear if he looked away.

Charlotte triggered the blood pressure meter and checked the reading as it was displayed. She nodded to herself and noted the reading in the chart.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked.

"I'm checking John's blood pressure," she said. "John was hypovolemic earlier because of his bleed, and his blood pressure was very low."

"How is it now?" Dean asked.

"Much better." Charlotte was pleased to be able to deliver some good news in the case of John Smith. "He's rallying."

Dean nodded. "That's good." He turned his attention to the other machinery surrounding his brother. "What does all this do?"

"This is the ventilator. Because of the trauma John has suffered, he's unable to breathe well enough on his own, so this machine it taking the work off him. These here"—she gestured to the small electrodes on Sam's chest—"are monitoring his heart rate. He's holding strong at the moment at 60bpm. We couldn't ask for better, considering all he's been through."

"Ya hear that," Bobby said, moving to stand beside Dean. "He's doing good."

Dean nodded. He was trying to take comfort in the fact his brother was doing well, but it was hard to accept that Sam's heart beating on its own was a cause for celebration.

"This here is John's central line," Charlotte said, warming to her task. "It's easier for us to administer his meds and TPN this way."

"What's TPN?" Dean asked, sounding only mildly interested in the answer.

"It stands for Total Parenteral Nutrition. It's provides all the nutrition he needs as John is unable to eat at the moment. It's less invasive than a feeding tube."

Unable to eat? It seemed a tad pointless to Dean to talk about how Sam was unable to eat when the bigger issue was that he was also unable to breathe. He felt overwhelmed by the amount of information he was hearing. All these things that were needed to keep Sam alive. It didn't seem possible. Sam was… Sam. He shouldn't need all this.

Charlotte continued her explanation of all the machinery and monitors surrounding Sam, but Dean blocked her out. He couldn't stand to hear it anymore. He wanted to be left alone with his brother.

"When's he going to wake up?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

Charlotte stilled in the process of checking John's IV line. She didn't want to be the one to answer this question. It should be a doctor.

"When is he going to wake up?" Dean asked again.

"We don't know," she admitted. "You have to understand, your brother has been through a lot. He needs time to heal. He will wake when he's ready." It was the truth but not the whole truth, and Dean sensed it.

"What are you hiding?" he asked.

"I'll get Doctor Saunders," Charlotte said, edging towards the door. "She can answer your questions better than I can."

"Dammit, tell me—"

Bobby cut Dean's words off. "Calm down, boy. Let the doctor talk to us. She can explain everything."

"Fine," Dean spat. "Get the damned doctor." He thumped down onto the chair and picked up Sam's hand again. "I'll be here waiting."

* * *

Bobby excused himself to get them both coffee, and Dean was left alone with his brother for the first time. He pulled his chair even closer to the bed and sat down.

"Oh, Sammy. What the hell am I supposed to do now?" he asked.

Sam remained supine on the bed, not even twitching an eyelid. Dean wished more than anything that Sam would wake up. Dammit, even the twitch of a finger would make him happy.

"C'mon, Sammy, give me something to work with here."

Dean couldn't stand to look at his brother lying on the bed, so he turned away and looked out of the window. It was a clear day and the sky was blue. It was a day for being outside in the sun, not for hospital rooms.

"It's a great day, Sammy. How about you wake up and enjoy it with me?"

The only response was the steady beep of the heart monitor. Dean took comfort in the sound. It was proof that Sam was still alive, still fighting.

Dean turned back to his brother and reached out a shaking hand to push Sam's bangs from his eyes. "You need a haircut, Sammy. Maybe I should take advantage of the opportunity to give you a trim. C'mon, Sammy, I'm threatening to cut your hair. That has to be a good enough reason to wake up."

He was trying to keep it light, but the tears began streaming down his face and there was nothing he could do to halt them.

He got to his feet and leaned over the bed. "Wake up, Sam! You have to wake up! C'mon, open your eyes and look at me. Please, Sammy. Wake up!"

He searched for any reaction but there was none. He felt a wave of overwhelming sadness as he looked down upon his brother. He didn't know what to do or say to help him. All he wanted was for his brother to wake up and talk to him, but it didn't seem like that was happening anytime soon.

"Dammit, Sammy." He choked on the sob that built up in his chest. "Wake up!"

He lost control of his emotions completely. Tears streaked down his face and fell onto his brother. His breath came in hitching gasps and his eyes stung. He sank back down onto the chair and allowed his head to fall so it rested against Sam's shoulder.

He didn't hear the door open as Bobby came back into the room. The first clue that he wasn't alone was the hand that rested on his shoulder. He lifted his head slowly and looked into the older man's eyes.

"What am I going to do, Bobby? What the hell am I going to do?"

Bobby shook his head. "I don't know, boy. I just don't know."

* * *

I posted a two part story over the weekend. It's called Wasted Vessel, and it's a season 5 AU.

**Summary:** Dean: _'It turns out that you and me we're the, uh, the fire and the oil of the Armageddon. You know, on that basis alone, we should just pick a hemisphere. Stay away from each other for good.'_ After the phone call with Dean, Sam takes drastic action to avoid his destiny as Lucifer's vessel. LIMP!HURT!SAM ANGSTY!DEAN


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta'ing this and for all her help and encouragement through the writing process.**

* * *

**Chapter Six**

Doctor Saunders paused for a moment outside John Smith's room, bracing herself. She knew the legal team had been in to speak with the family and that they were now aware of all the hospital's failings in John's care. The two men sat in chairs on either side of the bed, and they were deep in conversation. It didn't take a genius to work out what they were talking about.

Knowing she was being a coward lurking outside the room, she tapped on the door and then pushed it open. "Good evening, gentlemen," she said in a tone of forced brightness.

Bobby nodded in return to her greeting, and Dean stared balefully at her. He would be trouble, she surmised.

Noting the cart the doctor was wheeling in ahead of her, Dean asked, "What's that for?"

"We need to run another test on John."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "That's pretty vague. Want to give me a little more to go on?"

The doctor sighed. "This is called an Electroencephalograph. It will monitor John's brainwaves to give us a greater understanding of his level of brain function."

Dean gulped. No matter how cheerily the doctor said it, it sounded seriously bad to him.

"Brain waves." Cold fear gripped Bobby's heart. "You mean there might be damage?"

"Brain damage!" Dean gasped. He was grateful that he was already sitting, as he didn't think his legs would have held him if he had been standing. "My brother has brain damage?"

"We don't know," Doctor Saunders said somberly. "That is what this machine will tell us. Prior to John's cardiac arrest, he was showing active brain waves; there was no sign of damage. When he crashed in the OR, the oxygen flow to his brain was compromised. That may have caused some damage. I don't want you to worry, yet. There is—"

"Doc, I can guarantee we're gonna worry," Bobby said. "It's an automatic reaction when someone mentions brain damage. Now, how's about you set up that machine and set all our minds at ease."

The younger man implored her with his eyes, and the doctor thought she had never seen such a tragic expression.

The two men got to their feet and stepped away from the bed, giving the doctor a clear path to her patient. She smoothed back his hair, and set about attaching the electrodes to his scalp. She took her time, wanting to make sure she did a good job. The last thing she needed was to foul up somewhere and cause more stress to the two men. When she was satisfied with her work, she stepped back from the bed.

She thought it was better to be upfront with the family; it might help them to know what they were looking for. This could backfire on her if there was no activity, of course. She had faith in John Smith though. He had already come through so much. She hoped this time would be no different. "We're looking at the activity on this readout, the more the better."

Dean and Bobby stepped around the bed so they had a clear view of the machine. They looked at the doctor expectantly, and she flicked on the machine. Immediately there was a rush of movement on the monitor as the machine whirred to life. It settled into smooth lines of movement. It ebbed and flowed rhythmically.

Dean felt wetness pool around his eyes at the sight. There was activity; his brother was going to be okay.

"That's good, right?" Bobby said, watching the lines streak across the screen.

Doctor Saunders didn't respond immediately. She too was examining the readout, and she didn't feel the same rush of relief as the two men. There was something wrong.

Dean turned to look at her, worry twisting his gut. He stepped closer to the bed and gripped Sam's lax hand. "What's wrong?"

"There is activity," Doctor Saunders said carefully.

"And that's a good thing?" Bobby prompted.

The doctor sighed heavily, hating what she had to say next. "The activity is depleted."

Though Dean stood motionless, it felt as though he had just careened into a brick wall. The breath was forced from his lungs in a harsh whoosh. He stared down at his brother on the bed, and, not for the first time, he wondered how things could have gone so wrong so fast. Two weeks ago, he was happy hunting with his brother, then they had fought, and that had been bad enough, but now this… He didn't know how much more he could take.

"What do you mean depleted?" Bobby struggled to keep his voice steady as a tidal wave of shock and horror washed over him.

"I mean that the activity we had seen before today was much greater than this." She sighed. "I will need to run the test for at least twenty minutes more to get a clear read, but what I am seeing at this moment is decreased brain activity."

"How bad is it?" Bobby asked in a hoarse voice.

"We won't know until he wakes up," she said evasively.

"And when will that be?"

Though it was Bobby that had asked, Doctor Saunders addressed Dean next. "What you need to understand is that your brother has—"

"We've already had the 'been through a lot' and 'time to heal' speech, thanks," Dean snapped. "He's been through more than you can imagine, and he's come through it all intact. I want to know when my brother is going to wake up."

Doctor Saunders drew in a quick breath at the unmasked hostility in the younger man's eyes. It scared her a little.

"What my nephew means is that we need straight answers," Bobby said, casting Dean a remonstrating glance.

"Don't talk for me!" Dean growled and then he turned his glare on the doctor again. "I want to know when my brother is going to wake up!"

"Mr. Smith, it's impossible to tell—"

"Tell me!" Dean bellowed.

"Maybe never." As soon as the words left her mouth, Doctor Saunders cursed them. She had been taught how to react in situations like these. It was her job to deliver bad news in a gentle way. But this young man had forced it out of her.

"Never?" Dean's voice was barely audible. He wavered on his feet and Bobby rushed to his side and eased him into a chair.

Gripping Dean's shoulder, Bobby swallowed back the bile in his throat. "Please explain."

"John is in a deep coma. There are certain tests we perform to grade consciousness, and John isn't scoring high on them. He is showing no response to pain, not even involuntary movements. He may never wake up."

"But this can change, right?" Bobby asked.

"Absolutely!" she said wholeheartedly. "There is a chance he can come out of this a good chance, but you also need to be prepared for the opposite."

"Get out," Dean said quietly.

"I'm sorry, what—"

"I said get out!" Dean snarled. "Get out of here. Leave us alone. Leave my brother alone. Just get out."

"Dean!" Bobby chided.

"No, Bobby," Dean pushed off Bobby's restraining arm. He advanced on the doctor, looking positively murderous. "Leave now."

The doctor turned on her heel and scurried from the room. For the first time in her career, she felt like a failure. John Smith was making her feel like a failure. She had failed to see the signs of internal bleeding in John in time and now she had failed his family, too.

Dean stood and watched her go, breathing heavily through his nose. He was full of rage, rage borne of the news she had given him. He didn't want to hear it, didn't want to believe it, but her words wouldn't leave him.

_'He may never wake up.'_

He looked down at his brother and tears welled in his eyes and fell down his cheeks. He stepped closer to the bed and took Sam's hand in his own again. "Dammit, Sammy," he moaned.

"Dean." Bobby stepped up beside him. "It's going to be okay, son."

For once, Bobby's words held no comfort for Dean. The time for empty promises and comfort had come and gone. All that mattered was the truth, and the doctor had just delivered it.

Dean gripped Sam's shoulders and squeezed them. "Come on, Sammy. You have to wake up. Prove them wrong. Wake up!"

"Dean, you're gonna hurt him." Bobby tugged on Dean's elbow. "You can't…"

"Come on, Sammy. Wake up!" Dean implored. "For me. Wake up for me."

Bobby jerked Dean's hands away from Sam. Dean's grip had left pale marks on Sam's bronze skin.

Dean looked down at his brother and horror built in him. Horror for what he had done and horror for what he had heard. He couldn't stand to be in that room a moment longer. He felt like he was drowning for fresh air. Turning away from his brother and Bobby, he crossed the room in long strides.

"Where are you going?" Bobby asked.

"Away." He flung open the door. "Away from this damned place."

"Your brother needs you," Bobby said.

Dean looked once at his brother and shook his head. Sam didn't need him anymore. Sam needed a miracle.

* * *

Dean slammed his glass down on the bar and gestured to the bartender. "Fill me up."

The bartender was a young girl, probably only early twenties. She was pretty in a homespun way, and on any other day Dean would have been looking to get her into bed. Not today though. Today he had other concerns.

The bartender refilled his glass and Dean skulled it back.

"Bad day?" she asked.

If it weren't for the dire situation he was in, Dean would have laughed at the cliché line.

"Bad doesn't even begin to cover it."

"Want to talk about it?"

In truth, the last thing that Dean wanted to do was talk about the crap-storm that was his current situation, but he found himself speaking anyway.

"I have this friend…"

The bartender gave him a knowing look. "A friend, huh?"

"Yes, a friend." Dean's tone was firm. "And he's got this kid brother. He's a good kid, but he attracts trouble like nobody's business."

"Let me guess. He's got himself in trouble and it's your _friend's_ job to get him out of it again?"

Dean shook his head. "If only it was that easy. No, he's got himself in trouble, but this time my friend can't help. It's down to him to pull himself out of it, and I don't know if he can. He's been through a hell of a lot lately, and this might just be too much for him."

"Maybe your friend is underestimating his brother. If he's come through bad stuff before, he might be able to do it again."

Dean raked a hand over his face and knocked back the whisky the bartender had poured for him. He would like to think that Sam could come back from this, but he had no hope left. This was just one thing too many for him to handle. And if it was too much for Dean to just watch it happen, how could Sam bring himself out of this?"

"Has your friend tried talking to his brother?" The bartender asked, replacing Dean's shot glass with a bottle of beer—he was getting through the shots too fast for his own good. "That might help."

"He's tried," Dean admitted. "But it's a little complicated."

"Complicated how?"

Dean sighed heavily. "The thing that's happened, it was an accident. Now my buddy's brother is in the hospital, in a coma."

"Oh!" The bartender's mouth dropped open. "I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, sorry." Dean nodded. "Me too."

"And there's no hope?" she asked.

"According to my buddy's brother, there is always hope. He's one of those guys that believes in second chances. He always has hope. He's the glass half full guy."

"And you're not?"

"I'm a realist. The doctors say he might wake up, but here's the kicker, they did this test this morning and there's something wrong with his brain. Some damage from one of the surgeries. Now, he may wake up, but there's no knowing what state he will be in when he wakes up. My buddy, he doesn't know which is worse. The fact he may not wake up at all, or the fact he might."

"You're scared," she stated. "Scared of what he'll be like when he wakes up."

"Terrified," Dean admitted, no longer caring that she was seeing through his pretence of a friend and his brother. "What if he's not Sam anymore?"

"Surely it's better to have some part of him back, better than nothing at all."

"That's the question, isn't it? Will he still be my brother if he doesn't know me anymore? If he doesn't remember all the things we have been through together. What if he looks at me and I am a stranger to him?"

"Then you'll remember for the both of you," she said gently. "I can't imagine what you are going through, but I know one thing, sitting here in a bar isn't going to help anything. You should be with your brother. How would you feel if he woke up and you weren't there?"

A wave of sadness separate to the grief he was already feeling swept through Dean. The thought of Sam opening his eyes without Dean being there was chilling. He pushed his beer away and got to his feet.

"Thanks… um."

"Shelly," the bartender said. "My name's Shelly. Do me a favor, okay? Come back sometime and let me know how things work out."

"Thanks, Shelly. And I will. I promise."

"I'll pray for your brother. What's his name?"

"Sam. His name is Sammy.

* * *

Bobby sat at Sam's beside and wondered how things could have come to this. He had thought the greatest threat to his boys was the leviathans and the other creatures they chased—not a day went by that the brothers were out on the hunt that Bobby didn't worry about them. It turned out he was wrong. Something as simple as crossing the street had almost stolen Sam away.

"Oh, Sam, why did this have to happen?" Bobby asked aloud.

He watched Sam's chest rise and fall with the rhythm of the ventilator and tried to take comfort in it. He tried to tell himself that it was a good thing, that it was a sign that Sam was still alive and fighting, but knowing that it was not Sam doing it for himself stole any comfort from the scene.

"I tell ya, boy, you have to come out of this soon. I don't know how much more your brother can take. He don't seem to work right without you. He's drowning at the moment; you have to give him something to hold on to."

He searched Sam's form for a sign of reaction, but there was none.

"C'mon, Sam," Bobby pleaded. "You have to give us something."

He knew in his heart that it was foolish to expect his words to reach Sam. The doctor had said he was in a deep coma. He was beyond their beckoning.

A nurse came into the room and Bobby got to his feet. "Everything okay?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm just doing some checks." She hovered around the bed, checking tubes and wires. She pulled back the sheet covering Sam's abdomen and nodded approvingly. "It all looks good."

Bobby nodded. "That's good, right?"

"Yes. There are no signs of a further bleed. In a moment, someone will come and take Sam down for a CT."

"You just said he was good."

"We aren't taking any chances with John," the nurse said. "We need to be sure."

Bobby knew she was referencing the mistakes that had already been made in Sam's care. Bobby and Dean had discussed it at length, and though they were both furious, there was nothing they could do about it. John Smith didn't really exist. Luckily for them, the hospital hadn't asked about insurance so far. Bobby was hoping shame would keep them from asking, as neither Dean nor Bobby had anywhere near enough money to cover the treatment costs.

The nurse left and Bobby settled back in the chair.

"Ya hear that, Sam? You're doing good."

The only response was the continued click and hum of the ventilator.

* * *

When Dean got back to the ICU, he found Bobby standing in the hallway. His heart contracted painfully and he stopped dead in his tracks.

"No!" he moaned.

"No, it's okay," Bobby called, hurrying towards him. "It's okay. They've just taken him for a scan. He's okay."

"Oh, thank god," Dean breathed. "Hold on. Why are they scanning him again?"

"Sam's getting the VIP treatment. They just want to be sure they haven't missed anything."

Dean exhaled and leaned back against the wall. "That's good, I guess."

"Damn right it's good. Now, you care to tell me where you've been?"

"I went to a bar."

"I know that. I'm practically getting drunk off the fumes. I want to know where your head was at when you decided to walk out on your brother."

"I just needed some space, Bobby. I can't breathe in this place."

"And you're better now?"

"I am. I had someone talk some sense into me."

Bobby wished he could have been that person. He was used to having the answers for the boys, but he was out of his depth here. He didn't know what to say to help Dean, and he didn't know how to bring Sam back.

"Sam's gonna be a while," Bobby said. "Let's go get us some coffee."

"I don't want to be too far away," Dean said uncomfortably. He had already walked out on his brother once today; he would not do it again. If, no, when, Sam woke up, Dean wanted to be the first person he saw.

"Okay, son. I don't think they'll mind if you hang in his room. I'll go get us some coffee and then I should see about finding us a motel. I don't know how long they'll let us hang around."

"I'm not leaving him, Bobby. I don't care what they say. It's their fault he's as bad off as he is. If they think I am going to leave them to look after him alone, they've got another thing coming."

"I hear ya, but you need sleep."

"I can sleep here," Dean said doggedly. "You go get some sleep though. Sammy will understand."

Bobby crossed his arms over his chest. "If you're staying, so am I."

Dean smiled a grim smile. "Thanks, Bobby, for everything."


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta'ing this and for all her help and encouragement through the writing process.**

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

Two weeks passed since Bobby got the call about Sam, a month passed since the accident, and there was no change in Sam's condition, no change in him, but plenty in Dean and Bobby. They were exhausted, and swiftly running out of hope.

After the first week, Dean was forced to admit that Sam wasn't going to spontaneously open his eyes, and Bobby had persuaded him to spend every other night at the motel to get something close to quality rest. On the nights Dean slept at the motel, Bobby stayed in the hospital so Sam wouldn't be alone. Sam was never alone. The only time the two hunters left the room was when the nurses were seeing to Sam's personal care needs. The rest of the time, Dean and Bobby flanked Sam on either side. They tried to keep him involved, but it was hard to hold a conversation when the missing piece of their trio was oblivious to everything happening around him.

"I'm not sure how much longer I can do this, Bobby," Dean admitted.

Bobby's brow furrowed. Dean was usually careful about what he discussed around Sam. Since he had walked out on his brother, only to return a few hours later, drunk, he had been diligent in giving Sam something to wake up to, and familiar voices and a stress free environment was part of that.

Bobby pushed to his feet and gestured for Dean to follow him out of the room.

"We'll be right back, Sammy," Dean said, gripping his brother's wrist. "I just need to talk to Bobby for a minute."

Bobby paused at the door and caught the eye of a passing nurse. "Charlotte, do you think you can sit with John for a minute?"

"Of course." She smiled brightly. Her initial impression of Bobby as dangerous had faded the more contact she had with him. She now saw him as a family member like any other, only concerned with their loved one. She was still intimidated by Dean. The only softness she saw in him was when he was speaking to his brother.

"Thanks."

Satisfied that someone would be with his brother, Dean followed Bobby to the small lounge room situated off the main corridor of the ward. Dean sank into a chair and hid his face in his hands. Bobby remained standing, looking down at his surrogate son.

"What do you mean you can't do this?" he asked. "You're not thinking of—"

"I'm not running off." Dean scowled. "I just don't know how much longer I can sit there and talk to him like he's listening to me, when we both know..."

"We don't know anything"

"We know he's not waking up," Dean said. "It's been a month now, Bobby, a month, and he's showing no signs of getting better."

"We just need to give him time. He's been through a lot, and he needs to—"

"I love you like a father, Bobby, but if you give me the 'time to heal' speech, I will kill you."

Bobby snorted. "I know you don't want to hear it, but it's the truth. He does need to heal."

"What if we don't have time?" Dean asked. "We've been kicking our heels here for two weeks now, doing nothing."

"We've been doing everything we can."

"We need to do more!"

"Okay," Bobby said slowly. "Tell me what to do, and we'll do it."

Dean raked a hand through his hair. "We need help, supernatural help."

"We're kinda low on options here, son. We don't have Cas anymore, and if you're thinking what I think you're thinking, you're out of luck. I will tie you to a chair and leave you there before I let you go near a crossroads."

Dean barked a laugh. "Don't think I haven't thought about it, but no one will deal with me, not now. And as for angels, you're right, Cas is gone, and Balthazar is missing. We have no chance of persuading anyone that doesn't know us to help." He sighed. "I was thinking of a faith healer. Sam found one that time for me. There has to be someone out there that can fix this."

"A faith healer." Bobby scrubbed at his beard. "I don't know. Sam finding that one was a one in a million chance."

"It's a long shot, I get that," Dean said. "But it's not impossible."

Bobby sat down heavily and clasped his hands between his knees. He considered Dean's words. A faith healer was their best chance at fixing Sam up completely. Unless Sam himself could find a way to claw out of his coma alone, it was their only chance. Medicine had done all it could for him.

"Okay," he said eventually. "I'll call around some. Hunters have been keeping an eye on faith healers since you boys found that one with a pet reaper. If there's anyone out there that's the real deal, I'll hear about it."

Dean got to his feet and grinned. "Thanks, Bobby."

"Dean," Bobby said as Dean reached for the doorknob. "We're talking the real deal here, right? You're not thinking of exchanging Sam's place for another poor sap, are you?"

Dean shook his head. "Of course not, Bobby. The real deal only." What he didn't say aloud was that if he thought a reaper would be able to exchange Sam for another person, he would have summoned one himself weeks ago.

Bobby went back to the motel to make some calls to other hunters and Dean headed back to Sam's room. Charlotte was beside the bed, doing her hourly checks.

"Everything okay?" Dean asked.

"John's doing just fine." She smiled. "Doctor Saunders has written him up for a MRI this afternoon."

"Why would she do that if he's fine?" Dean asked.

"It's just a precaution. She wants to see how his intestine is healing."

Dean knew the real reason for the doctor's attentiveness, and while it pleased him that Sam was getting such good care, it didn't excuse the fact they had failed so miserably already. And there was nothing Dean could do about it. He wanted to rant and rave and threaten lawsuits against those that had failed his brother, but he couldn't; John Smith didn't exist.

Dean refused to call Sam John. It wasn't his name; it was just an alias dreamed up by the insane Frank Devereaux. If Dean had known what was going to happen, he would have insisted that they stayed Sam and Dean. Though if he had known what was going to happen, he would never have let Sam walk away from him in the first place.

Dean nodded. "That's good. When are they coming for him?"

"Should be soon. I'll leave you two to talk. If you need anything, use the call button."

Dean watched her go and then turned his attention to his brother.

"It's just you and me, Sammy. Bobby has gone to make a few calls. We have a plan to help you."

Dean imagined Sam's brow furrowing as he reacted to that news. Of course it didn't happen, Sam's face remained lax and peaceful looking, but it helped Dean to imagine his brother as he had been when talking to him.

"I've had an idea, Sammy. A faith healer."

The Sam in Dean's mind raised his eyebrows, looking concerned.

"It'll be different this time. No pet reapers. Just a good old fashioned miracle." He laughed at himself, and his Sam smiled. "I get that's it a long shot, but it's the only shot we got. You don't seem to be able to do this alone."

The Sam in his mind looked sad.

"I understand. You're already fighting, I know that, but if you have anything in reserve, now would be the time to bring it out. I need you awake. I can't do this without you. And there's plenty to do. You won't leave me to fight these leviathans alone will you?"

The leviathans… Dean had barely thought of them lately; everything with Sam had eclipsed it, but now he couldn't help but wonder what was happening with them. He thought he should have felt guilty for his lack of action against them, people were dying after all, but his concern for Sam overcame his guilt. Besides, they weren't the only hunters in the world. Why was it their job to bring them down? No, he was going to focus his energies on his brother. When Sam was back on his feet, they could take down the leviathans together.

"Don't you worry about the leviathans, Sammy," Dean said gripping his hand tightly. "We can take care of them together."

An hour later, the orderlies came in to take Sam for his scan. Dean hated to watch the preparations, as it meant Sam was removed from his ventilator for a moment while they attached him to a portable one. The heart monitor was momentarily disconnected as they did the same. It reminded Dean of a team of experts disarming a bomb, and it scared him. He looked away as they worked, staring out of the window.

"Okay, we're ready," Charlotte said, and Dean moved to his brother's side once again. He pushed Sam's unruly hair away from his face, and leaned down to whisper in his ear. "You behave yourself down there, Sammy. No nasty surprises."

He straightened and nodded at the orderlies. With care, they wheeled Sam out of the room.

"Charlotte," Dean said. "He'll be okay, right?"

"John will be fine. He won't be alone for a moment."

Dean nodded his satisfaction and sat down in the chair to wait for his brother to return.

* * *

"Okay, Garth, thanks anyway. And remember, if you hear anything, you be sure to call me."

"I sure will. You take care, Bobby."

"I always do."

Bobby set the phone back in its cradle. He tugged off his baseball cap and ran a hand through his graying hair. "Dammit."

Garth had been one of the last numbers he had to call, and he knew nothing of any faith healers. There were dozens advertised on the internet but none that looked remotely genuine. If Bobby didn't have any luck soon on the phone, he was going to have to track them all down in person and see what they could do.

Despite the fact he was getting nowhere fast with his hunter friends, Bobby was feeling hope for the first time in two weeks. Having something to do, anything to do, was a good feeling. He knew Dean was feeling the same way. The fact there was the slight chance that they could get Sam back was the first spot of light in a very dark time.

He picked up his phone and dialed another number. He had been reluctant about calling this person, as she knew Sam personally and he didn't want to have to share the news of what had happened.

The phone rang out and he was connected to a voicemail service. Grateful for the reprieve, Bobby left a message.

"Annie, it's Bobby Singer. I'm looking for information on faith healers. We've kinda got ourselves in a bit of a mess here, and we need some help. If you know anything, please call me back. You know the number. Take care of yourself."

Setting the phone down again, he sank back into his chair. He had one number left to call, and it was someone he hadn't spoken to in a long time. Picking up the card for Mackey's Taxidermy, he dialed the number.

A voice answered. "This is Mackey."

"Mackey, it's Bobby Singer. I need help."

Mackey was instantly alert. "What's wrong?"

"One of the Winchester boys is in trouble, and we're looking for help of a supernatural kind."

"Some demon get him?"

Bobby laughed shakily. "Afraid not, not a monster either. Would you believe a car took him out?"

"A possessed car?"

"Possessed by a soccer mom. The kid was just crossing the street and he got taken out. He's in a bad way, and we don't know what to do for him anymore."

"Last I heard, the Winchester boys had a pet angel following them around. Can't they help?"

"We kinda lost him," Bobby said heavily.

"You lost an angel?"

"It's a long story." Bobby sighed. "Suffice to say, we can't call on him for help. We're looking for a faith healer."

"A faith healer, huh?" Mackey chuckled. "I may be able to help you there. My current hunt is a faith healer in Colorado. Some guy called Emmanuel."

"Seriously?" Bobby's heart lightened at the thought of this Emmanuel. If there was even a chance he could help Sam, Bobby would do anything, pay anything.

Mackey laughed. "Seriously. I've got an appointment with him tomorrow and a full bag of tricks to test out on him. I'll call you when I'm done with him and let you know what I find."

"Thank you, Mackey. You don't know what this means to us."

"No worries, Bobby. I'll speak to you soon. You take care now."

"You too."

Bobby set the phone down and exhaled in a shaky gust. He may have found a way to help his boy. The thought had him grinning like a fool.

Grabbing his keys, he shrugged on his jacket and set out for the hospital to share the good news with Dean.

* * *

In the radiology wing of the hospital, Sam was carefully loaded onto the table of the MRI machine. Mindful of the wires and tubes required for his care, Charlotte checked him over once before stepping away from the machine and going into the control booth. From there, she could monitor his heart rate and sats with the monitors. The machine whirred to life and let out a cacophony of noise.

Sam was unaware of the noise. He was in a peaceful place away from sound and touch and pain. The only company he had in this place was his own thoughts, and they were hard to marshal. He didn't mind. There was no need to think here. All he had to do was just be.

Sam had no concept of time passing. To him, he had been in this place an eternity, and he didn't mind that at all. He had no inclination to do anything. He was content to ride the peaceful ebb and tide.

Except… He felt like he was missing something. That there was something he should be doing.

Something was missing from this perfect place. Someone should have been there with him, someone that was always there.

With that thought came a sense of urgency, and the peaceful place didn't feel so good anymore.

Sam battled to open his mouth to speak. If someone could hear him, they might be able to answer his questions, but he was frozen in place. Something was holding him down. There was a darkness here, tempting him away. He battled against the weight against him, but as he did, the darkness crept in faster. The darkness scared him. He was sure if he allowed himself to fall into it, he would never get free again.

He stopped pushing against the wall, and the darkness instantly receded. Exhausted by the effort expended, Sam allowed the peace to roll over him once again.

He would try again, just as soon as he got some rest.

* * *

In the control room of the MRI scanner, Nurse Charlotte Gaines watched in horror as John Smith's heart rate climbed.

"Dammit," she cursed, rushing into the room. "We need to get him out of there. He's going to crash!"

There was flurry of movement as the machine was shut down and Sam was brought out. His heart was racing, and Charlotte slammed a hand on the crash button.

"C'mon, John, don't do this to me," she said desperately. She couldn't bear the thought of going back to the ICU and telling Dean and Bobby that John had been lost.

The crash team barreled into the room, wheeling equipment with them.

"What do we have here?" The doctor asked.

"Sustained V-tac at 175," Charlotte reeled off. "He was perfectly stable only a minute before."

"Let's get him stable again," the doctor said confidently.

"We've lost pulse!" an intern barked.

"Charging!"

"Wait!" The doctor held up a hand. "Look at that." On the monitor, John Smith's pulse returned. It was still high but slowing.

"Is he bradying down?"

The doctor shook his head. "No, look." The monitor read a steady sixty beats per minute.

"I've never seen anything like it," Charlotte said breathlessly.

"There's a first time for everything." The doctor was just as shocked as she was, but he didn't want to show his inexperience. "Let's get this kid back to the ICU before he pulls another stunt like that."

Nodding her agreement, Charlotte set about preparing Sam for transport.

In all the action, no had one noticed Sam's finger twitching against his blanket.

* * *

**Thanks again to everyone that has reviewed. Every time I see a new alert, I rush to my inbox.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta'ing this and for all her help and encouragement through the writing process.**

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

Dean smiled as the door opened and Charlotte stepped inside at the foot of Sam's bed. He felt infinitely better having his brother back by his side, where he could keep an eye on him.

"How'd he do?" he asked.

Charlotte frowned. "Not as well as we would have liked."

Dean's heart sank. "What's wrong now?"

"Now, nothing. Earlier, John gave us a little scare. He was tachycardic, and we lost pulse."

Dean crossed the room in two strides and gripped Sam's hand. "But he's okay, right?" His eyes found the heart monitor, and he watched the steady rise and fall of lines as Sam's heart rate was recorded.

"He's doing good. Honestly, I can't explain what happened. We were preparing to shock him back into rhythm, but he rallied on his own."

"That's a good thing, right?"

"It's something none of us have ever seen before."

Dean smiled grimly. "That's my brother. He never does what you expect. It's a trademark of his."

Dean watched carefully as Sam's bed was eased back into position and the brakes locked. He looked away as he was removed from the portable ventilator and reattached to the stationary one.

"Okay, Dean, all done," Charlotte said.

Dean turned back to his brother. Carding a hand through Sam's hair, he allowed himself a small smile. He had his brother back with him.

Charlotte watched the moment pass between the two brothers, and she smiled. Dean intimidated her a lot of the time, but the softness he showed with his brother reassured her that he was a good guy.

"I'll leave you two alone." She stepped out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Dean pulled up a chair beside Sam's bed, and reached out and took his hand.

"It's just the two of us now, Sammy. How's about we do a little light reading." Dean picked up a copy of Guns and Ammo that Bobby had left behind and started to read from an article.

* * *

Consciousness comes slowly. Eyes don't snap open and all is healed. It is a long, drawn out process. More than that, it is a fight.

Sam was a warrior. He had been for years. A hunter. No one knows how to fight like a hunter, but he had never faced a battle like this before.

Almost every part of him wanted to stay in the peaceful place, but there was a small part of him that knew it was wrong. That part was growing ever louder, telling him that he had to fight his way out, to get back to the world. Someone or something was waiting for him there.

The first part of awareness to return to Sam was sound. He heard voices, though they were muffled, as though he was hearing them underwater.

He focused, and they became a little clearer.

"…doing good…can't explain…preparing to shock…into rhythm…rallied on his own."

The words were fragmented and confusing. Sam couldn't make sense of them. They didn't feel important to his immediate predicament, so he allowed them to wash over him. What was important was that there were people there to speak. That meant he wasn't alone.

Sam needed to find a way to reach them.

* * *

"For big game you want plenty of accuracy, but with a good barrel and ammo, most modern cartridges are capable. You want a trajectory that's flat enough to remove at least some of the guesswork, but here's something else: You want a cartridge with enough velocity and bullet weight so you have plenty of energy remaining when the bullet arrives." Dean read aloud from the magazine. "I don't know about all this velocity and weight stuff, Sammy. It's all a bit over my head. What matters is that the bullet hits the target, right? I mean, when you're aiming at a werewolf, you're not worried about the bullets; so long as they're silver, it's all good."

Dean laughed to himself. If Sam were awake, he would be rolling his eyes right about now.

"I think that's enough for now." Dean tossed aside the magazine. "I wonder how Bobby's doing with the faith healer stuff."

In his mind, Sam snorted.

"Don't be like that, Sammy. It's going to work. We're going to wake you up from your epic nap, and we'll deal with anything that comes after. You're going to be just fine. You'll be back to driving me crazy in no time."

Dean prayed that was true. Even if all he hoped for came to being—Sam waking and having no lasting damage from all he had suffered—there was still the way they parted to deal with. Dean didn't want to believe that Sam would still be angry, but the image of his brother's face as he walked away from him kept returning to his mind. To lose Sam to his anger after all that had happened was more than he could handle.

The door was pushed open, and Bobby came in. "Hey, boys. I miss anything?"

"Actually, you did, but we'll get to that in a minute. Tell us how you got on. Did you have any luck?"

"As it turns out, I did." Bobby smiled widely. "One of my buddies, Mackey, has word of a faith healer."

Dean lurched to his feet. "He did? Where is he? How fast can we get him here?"

"Calm down, son. I'm getting to that. This guy Mackey found is in Colorado. He's called Emmanuel, and Mackey is heading there tomorrow to check him out."

Dean ran his hands through his hair and exhaled heavily. "This is great. That's only eleven hours away. If I set out now, I can meet Mackey there."

"Hold your horses. Are you really going to leave your brother alone for a day while you go chasing a white rabbit?"

"He won't be alone, you will be here. Or you can go and I stay. Either way, one of us should go."

Bobby shook his head. "I don't want you getting caught up in this, Dean. It may be that this Emmanuel is a fraud. Let's have Mackey check him out first. If he turns out to be the real deal, I'll go and get him myself."

Dean felt all his excitement of a moment ago leaving him. For a second, he had been filled with the bright light of hope. Now it was swiftly fading out of him.

"Don't go getting morose on me," Bobby said. "This is good news. We just can't get ahead of ourselves."

Dean sank down into his chair. "I know, Bobby. I just want to be doing something to help. I'm sick of sitting around doing nothing."

"We both are, but Sam needs us here at the moment. As soon as we have something to go on, we'll saddle up and head out. Until then, let's just keep faith."

* * *

Sam was fighting hard. Fighting to keep himself aware, but it was hard work. The voices helped him to stay grounded, but they could only do so much. There were other sounds in the room, constant sounds like the steady beeping he could hear. He focused on them, as they didn't ebb like the voices.

Some part of his mind understood that it was the sound of a heart monitor, and that meant he was in a hospital. Knowing where he was helped. It gave him a sense of place, though he didn't know how or why he had come to be there. He tried to find his last memory, but there was nothing there, just a void of nothingness. He didn't even know his own name. That worried him, but not as much as it should have. He had more pressing concerns,; such as the fact he couldn't move or make himself heard.

In his mind, he bellowed, pleading for help, but no one heard.

He focused on his body. He found that he could feel all of himself, though he couldn't move.

The voices he could hear meant that someone was near him. If he could just move, they would know he was still there, fighting to break free of his restraints.

He poured all of his energy into opening his eyes, but it was too much to manage. They felt like they were weighted with lead. It frustrated him that something so simple was so much work; it should be automatic. Whatever had happened to him, it had worn him down to the bone.

Deciding smaller was the way to go, he concentrated on his hands. If he could make a fist, someone would notice. They had to notice.

He poured all his energy into moving his fingers.

For a moment, he thought he was successful. He felt his hand lift, but as fingers intertwined with his own he realized someone else was manipulating his fingers.

If he could have cried, he would have. All that effort and he was getting nowhere.

Then he felt it, the hand holding his jerked and there was a crash.

"Bobby, I think I felt something. I'm sure he just moved his fingers."

* * *

Dean allowed his eyes to glaze over. He was watching Sam's chest rise and fall. It was almost hypnotic. It was also reassuring.

Bobby was reading the magazine he had left behind, and occasionally he would read aloud a section that interested him. Dean smiled to himself, knowing Sam would be bored stupid. Soulless Sam had been interested in weapons; the real Sam only cared that they worked.

He took Sam's hand and manipulated his fingers so they were entwined with his own. Awake, Sam would have been shocked into muteness at his brother holding his hand, but seeing as he was sleeping, Dean thought he had an out.

He was just thinking about having a nap himself—he was tired after a night spent bedside—when something happened. He felt Sam's hand twitch. It was a movement so subtle he would have missed it if it hadn't jerked his own fingers.

He lurched to his feet, knocking his chair to the floor. "Bobby, I think I felt something. I'm sure he just moved his fingers."

Bobby jumped to his feet too. "Are you sure?"

"I swear! Do it again, Sammy," Dean demanded.

Bobby and Dean watched Sam carefully for a sign of movement. At first there was nothing and then there was an almost imperceptible twitch in the hand entwined with Dean's.

"You saw that too, right?"

Bobby nodded, tears springing to his eyes. "I saw."

Dean's eyes moved to Sam's head. "C'mon, Sammy, open your eyes for me. You can do it!"

They waited, holding their breath, but Sam's eyes remained still beneath their closed lids.

It didn't spoil the happiness of the moment though. Dean and Bobby were happy to see some reaction, any reaction, from Sam.

"I better tell the doc," Bobby said, tearing his eyes away from Sam and heading to the door.

Dean nodded vaguely. His attention was still focused on his brother. He was waiting for another sign of life from Sam.

Bobby came back into the room, followed by Doctor Saunders.

"Sam moved his fingers," Dean said before she could ask a question of her own. "We both saw it."

Doctor Saunders smiled, but she didn't feel the same elation as Dean. She knew that there was likely a medical explanation for Sam's movement. It was probably a muscle spasm.

Not wanting to spoil the moment for the two men unless she was forced to, she moved to the bed. Reluctantly, Dean let go of Sam's hand and moved to stand by the window to allow her room to work. Though he kept his distance, he watched Sam closely, not wanting to miss anything.

"Let's see what we have here." Doctor Saunders leaned over Sam picked up his hand. "John! Can you hear me? I want you to squeeze my hand."

There was no response, but that didn't confirm anything to the doctor. There were other tests to perform. The next was her least favorite, as it meant inflicting pain on her patient. Reluctantly, she pressed her knuckles to Sam's sternum and ground them in.

Dean's heart skipped a beat at Sam's reaction. His head arched back and his arms curled into his chest.

"You're hurting him!" Dean accused.

"I am," Doctor Saunders said unapologetically. "This is good news, Dean."

"How is hurting him a good thing?"

"That fact that he can feel me hurting him is a good thing. Sam was scoring a three on the GCS before now."

"GCS?" Dean's brow furrowed with confusion.

"The Glasgow Coma Scale. Three is the lowest possible score. He's responding to pain now, which makes him a four. This is a good sign. He's not responding to verbal commands, and his eyes aren't opening, but that doesn't mean he won't."

"He's waking up?" Dean asked hopefully.

"He's showing signs of it." Doctor Saunders smiled, pleased to be able to give good news for once.

Dean felt moisture at the corners of his eyes, and he brushed it away absentmindedly. "What happens next?"

"That's all down to your brother. Only he can pull himself out of this. He's making steps in the right direction."

"What are we looking to happen next?" Dean asked. He was not so foolish as to expect Sam to suddenly open his eyes and start talking. Things would never be that easy.

"More spontaneous movement would be a good sign. His eyes opening in response to stimulus would also be good. Basically, any sign that he's waking up."

"What can we do to help him?" Bobby asked.

"Talk to him. Touch him. Make sure he knows you are here. You'd be surprised how much contact can do for a coma patient. As they are regaining consciousness, they are able to hear and feel more. Give him something to wake up to."

Dean nodded, glad that there was something he could do to help his brother. He had spent too long sitting there feeling useless. Sam was clawing his way back to them, and Dean was going to do everything he could to help him.

In the hall, an alarm sounded and a voice announced a code blue over the intercom.

"I have to go," Doctor Saunders said and dashed from the room, leaving Dean and Bobby alone with Sam.

Dean dragged his chair back to Sam's bed and sat down. "You hear that, Sammy? You're coming back. Now all you got to do is open those eyes, and we'll call it even on all the stress you have been heaping on us."

Bobby laughed, feeling lighter that he had in weeks. "You think that makes us even? I'm gonna need a little more than open eyes to make up for all these new grey hairs. A few bottles of the good stuff at least."

"Don't you listen to him, Sammy; he's just as happy as I am, and he knows it. But a bottle does sound pretty good right now. How's about you wake up and we share one."

* * *

**Thanks as always to everyone that has reviewed. I really appreciate each and every one. **


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta'ing this and for all her help and encouragement through the writing process.**

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

Bobby slipped into the hospital room and smiled as he saw Dean's position; he had fallen asleep with his head resting on the bed beside Sam's hand. Bobby crept across the room and set the coffee he had brought for Dean on the bedside table. He moved around the bed and sat in his usual chair on Sam's left.

He sipped at his coffee and stared across at the sleeping brothers, one of which he wished would wake, and the other he was grateful was getting some rest finally.

It had been two days since Sam had moved his fingers, and this was the closest Dean had got to quality rest since. He refused to leave Sam's side in case he woke while he was gone.

They were both impatient for further signs of wakefulness. So far, there had been none noticeable to Bobby and Dean, but the doctors were pleased nonetheless. Sam's response to pain had changed, apparently. Bobby didn't see the difference himself, Sam still flinched awkwardly, but it meant his score on the coma scale they were using was improving. As long as it meant Sam was on his way back, Bobby was happy.

"Well, Sam," he said softly, not wanting to wake Dean. "It's just you and me for now. Dean is having a rest. A lot like you, I guess, but I have a feeling he'll be easier to wake up. About that…" Bobby leaned forward and clasped his hands between his knees. "The way I see it, you're in a pretty nice place right now. There's no hell bashing around in your grapefruit, and no fuglys to fight. But you've got to come back, kid. Your brother needs you. Hell, I need you. Now I know you're doing your best, but if you could try just a little harder, that'd be great."

The only response Bobby received was the rapid increase of the heart monitor.

"Sam?"

Suddenly, Sam's back arched from the bed and his arms flailed. It was the most movement Bobby had seen him make in weeks, but rather than pleasing him, it terrified him. A horrible retching sound came from Sam's throat.

Dean jerked awake as Sam's flailing arms caught his face. "What's happening?"

"I don't know!" Panic filled Bobby voice. "I was just talking to him. He was fine."

There was a flurry of movement at the door as Doctor Saunders rushed in, followed by Beth and an intern they had met a few times before.

"What's happening to my brother?" Dean demanded. When no response came, he raised his voice to a shout. "Talk to me"

"He's fighting the vent," Doctor Saunders said. "It's okay."

"It sure as hell doesn't look okay."

"John, I need you to calm down," Doctor Saunders said in a firm voice. "I know it's uncomfortable, but the tube is helping you breathe."

Sam bucked against the bed. He was showing no signs of calming.

"Okay, we need to extubate him. Someone drop 10 of diazepam. We need him calm if we're going to do this."

A nurse drew up the drugs and injected them through the IV line. Sam thrashed and bucked against the bed for a moment, and the sick gargling rasp sound of his breath continued. Dean and Bobby watched with horror as the youngest of their family struggled while they stood idly, unable to help.

After a moment, Sam relaxed against the bed. His arms stopped flailing, but his breath continued to rasp.

"We ready for this?" the doctor asked, and the intern beside her nodded. "John, I want you to cough as hard as you can. This is going to be uncomfortable, but I promise, it will soon be over."

Sam was either unable to understand her command or he was unable to comply. For whatever reason, he didn't cough. Instead, he gagged and retched as the tube was slowly threaded out of his throat. As the last inch came free, he drew in a gasping breath.

"That's good, John. You're doing well. Now, take a nice deep breath for me; I promise it will feel better."

Sam's breaths slowly returned to normal, and a nurse placed an oxygen mask over his face.

Doctor Saunders rested a stethoscope over Sam's chest. "Breath sounds clear and equal." She nodded her approval.

"What the hell just happened?" Dean demanded. "It looked like he was having a fit."

Contrary to the thrashing and panic of only a moment before, Sam was still and silent again. His eyes were closed and his face lax was beneath the oxygen mask.

"He was fighting the ventilator," the doctor said.

"But doesn't he need that to breathe?"

"He doesn't anymore. He's breathing on his own right now. This is good news, Dean; it's a further sign that he's healing, that he's waking up."

"Why aren't his eyes open yet?" Dean asked, staring down at his prone brother.

"Give him time. He's doing his best. He just needs a little more time."

Dean sank down into the chair and raked a hand over his face. He had been giving Sam time, but now he was out of patience. He just wanted his brother awake again. Was that too much to ask?

* * *

"I'm going to go get us something to eat," Bobby said, pushing himself out of his chair two hours later.

"I'm not hungry," Dean said tonelessly.

"Tough. You're going to eat. You need to take care of yourself if you're going to be any help to Sam. He don't need you collapsing on him." Bobby didn't understand Dean's dour mood. Sam being taken off the ventilator was the first bit of good news they'd had in days, but it had seemed to steal away the last of Dean's reserves of positivity.

Dean nodded absently, keeping his eyes fixed on his brother's face.

Bobby cast him a sad glance and strode from the room. He thought the brothers just needed time alone together. Dean hadn't spoken to Sam in hours, and Bobby knew Sam needed to hear his voice. Perhaps, without an audience, Dean would feel more comfortable talking.

Dean looked up in time to see Bobby close the door gently behind him, and he sighed heavily. He knew he was being bad company, but he seemed to have lost himself in a funk that he couldn't shift.

"Just you and me, Sammy," he said, picking up his brother's hand. "Just the way we like it, huh?"

There was no response in Sam's face, but Dean felt something shift in his hand. He looked down to see Sam's fingers curling weakly against his own.

"Sammy?"

It was there again, a definitely tightening.

Dean's gaze snapped to Sam's face, and he saw something to lighten the heavy burden in his heart. Sam's eyes were rolling beneath their lids.

"C'mon, Sammy, open your eyes for me," Dean pleaded. "You can do it."

He was rewarded for his pleading by a glimpse of iris through cracked lids.

"Oh, Sam." Dean exhaled a shaky breath. Tears sprang to his eyes and slid down his cheeks. They dripped down, leaving small droplets on the sheet.

Sam's eyes began to slide shut again, and Dean released his hand. Cupping his brother's face, Dean turned Sam's head to look at him.

"C'mon Sammy, all the way. You can do it. I'm here."

Slowly, as if they were weighted, Sam's eyes opened all the way. For the first time in a month, Dean was able to look his brother in the eye.

"Welcome back, Sam,." Dean said in a heartfelt tone.

Sam's eyes began to slide closed again. Dean tapped his face gently. "No, Sam, no more sleeping. You have to stay awake awhile, okay?"

Sam wanted to obey the command. He struggled to keep his eyes open, but he was unable to. He was exhausted, and his mind was hazy.

Dean frowned as he saw Sam's eyes struggling to stay open. "Please, Sam, just a little longer."

At that, Sam's eyes slid closed, and his breaths slowed into the steady exhales of sleep.

Dean cursed. "Okay, Sammy," he said grudgingly. "Just a little longer though. We've got a lot to talk about."

Dean sank back in his seat, and picked up Sam's hand again. He knew he should call the doctor in and tell her what had happened, but he wanted just a little longer alone with his brother first. He wanted privacy to release the emotions he had stored for over two weeks.

Bowing his head, he began to sob in earnest. He was crying with both happiness and sadness. He was elated that his brother was alive and awake, and yet aching for the grief he had suffered while waiting for him to return.

* * *

Bobby nodded a greeting to the nurses as he passed their station on his way back to Sam's room. He had grown fond of some of them for the care they had taken with Sam. They never treated him as a comatose patient; they carried out one-sided conversations with him as they tended to him. As nice as they were, he couldn't wait until he didn't need to see them anymore. He wanted Sam awake and well and back at the cabin where Bobby and Dean could take care of him.

He shouldered open the door, shoving his packages of sandwiches onto one arm. As he stepped into the room, he stopped dead in his tracks. Dean had his head bowed over, and his shoulders shook with the force of the sobs breaking from him.

For a moment, Bobby's heart stopped in his chest. He feared the worse, but when his eyes found the heart monitor, his fears were abated. Sam's heartbeat was recorded, strong and steady.

He set his packages down on the table and moved to stand beside Dean. He set a hand on Dean's shaking shoulder. "What's wrong, son?" he asked.

Dean turned to look at him, and Bobby almost took a step back at the raw emotion in Dean's bloodshot eyes.

"He woke up, Bobby" Dean said through his tears. "Only for a moment, but he was awake."

Bobby's answering smile was wide. "About damn time. Did he say anything?"

Dean shook his head. "No. He seemed a little out of it, but he was awake. He looked at me."

"That's fantastic. Did you tell the doc?"

"No, I wanted a little time with him first."

"Think we should call her in now?" Bobby asked tentatively.

Dean wiped at the tears streaming down his face and nodded. "Yeah, I guess."

He pressed the call button, and a moment later, Beth appeared at the door. "Everything okay in here?"

"Sam woke up," Dean said without preamble. "It was only for a minute, but his eyes were open."

"That's wonderful news," she said enthusiastically. "I'll page Doctor Saunders."

She picked up the phone and dialed the page for the doctor.

A couple of minutes later, Doctor Saunders arrived.

"John is showing signs of waking," Beth said before Dean could speak. "His brother saw him open his eyes."

Doctor Saunders nodded. She had been expecting this page all afternoon. "Let's see what we have here."

She stepped around the bed and took Sam's hand in hers.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked.

The doctor smiled. "I'm waking him up." She squeezed Sam's hard firmly. "John! Can you open your eyes for me?"

Sam's eyes snapped open. He didn't make eye contact with her though; He stared blankly at the ceiling.

"Welcome back, John. We've been waiting a long time for you," she said.

Sam's gaze drifted to her for a moment, before returning to the ceiling.

Dean's felt a chill of fear. Something was wrong with Sam. He wasn't making eye contact. The chill of fear settled into something more desperate as Dean considered the latest EEG they had run on Sam. There was movement, but it was still diminished. Was there something permanently wrong with his brother?

"Doc, what's wrong with him?" he asked. "Why isn't he looking at you?"

"It's normal for coma patients to take some time to become fully aware. Sam is reacting exactly how I would expect him to given the length of his coma. There is no need to be alarmed."

What she didn't say aloud, but everyone in the room heard anyway, was that there was no need to be alarmed, yet. That would come later.

"We need to run some checks, and I think Sam will appreciate being cleaned up a little," she said. "How about you and your uncle take your lunch to the family room."

Dean would rather have a root canal than leave his brother while he was awake, but he knew Sam wouldn't want him to stay and watch while they bathed him. He was going to be embarrassed enough knowing complete strangers had been doing it.

"C'mon, Dean, let's give Sam some privacy," Bobby said bracingly.

Dean nodded reluctantly and allowed himself to be led from the room.

Doctor Saunders watched them go and then she turned her attention to Sam. "Okay, let's see what we're really working with here."

She gripped Sam's hands. "John, can you squeeze my hands for me?"

She felt strong pressure in response. "That's great. Now, I need you to look at me."

Sam's eyes remained fixed on the ceiling.

"Come on, John. Follow my voice and look at me."

Sam's eyes rolled to the left, but they didn't make eye contact with the doctor.

"Well done. One more thing, and then we will get you cleaned up and a little more comfortable. Can you say something for me? Do you remember your brother's name? What's your brother called?"

Sam's was either unwilling or unable to respond. His eyes remained fixed on the opposite wall.

"That's okay. We'll try again a little later. Now I'll leave Beth here to get you cleaned up."

Doctor Saunders left the room and walked back to the nurse's station. "I want you to arrange an MRI and EEG for John Smith."

"Something wrong?" Charlotte asked.

"I don't think so," she said carefully. "I just want to be sure."

Charlotte felt sure that she was missing something.

She was.

Doctor Saunders hadn't been lying. It was perfectly normal for patients to exhibit John Smith's symptoms upon awakening. The lack of eye contact and speech was all standard, but something was nagging at the doctor. She felt sure that something was still wrong with John Smith.

* * *

**I posted a one-shot yesterday called Dark Water. It is a tag to 1.03 – Dead In The Water**

**Summary:** 1.03 Dead In The Water: Lucas is saved, but where is Sam? LIMP!SAM

**Please give it a look and let me know what you think **

**CoM x **


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta'ing this and for all her help and encouragement through the writing process.**

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

Bobby went back to the motel, citing the need for sleep, but Dean knew it was because he wanted to give Dean and Sam some time alone together. Dean appreciated it even more as he knew Bobby was almost as eager to see Sam awake as Dean was.

When Dean was allowed into the room again, Sam had been bathed and his bed was inclined so he was partially sitting. His eyes were closed and his face was relaxed in the smooth lines of sleep. The oxygen mask had been replaced by a nasal cannula. He looked more like himself than he had since arriving in the hospital.

Dean sat down on the chair beside Sam's bed and picked up his hand. It felt different now. Before, Sam's muscles had been lax and his hand floppy, but now there was tension beneath Dean's fingers.

In response to Dean's grip, Sam opened his eyes and looked across the room.

Dean grinned. "Hey, Sammy. Good to see you awake again."

Sam's eyes drifted in Dean's direction and passed him by. It was unnerving to Dean, though he knew it was normal for the situation. What he wanted more than anything was for his brother to look him in the eye. It was such a small thing, but it would have made Dean so happy.

"C'mon, Sammy, look at me," Dean commanded. "I know you can do it."

What Dean didn't know was that Sam was already fighting hard to look at his brother. His brain felt like it had been stuffed with cotton balls. He was disoriented and confused. He knew he was in a hospital and that Dean was there, but he didn't seem able to make his mind focus on anything for more than a few seconds before his attention drifted. It was maddening.

He frowned, and Dean caught the movement. "Sammy? You okay?"

Sam couldn't speak, but he could shake his head. Dean's heart lightened at the movement. His brother was responding to him.

"Are you in pain?" His tone was concerned.

Another small shake of the head.

Dean sighed and raked a hand through his hair. "But you're not okay? Damn. Can you try to talk? I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong."

Sam's mind cleared a little, and he heard the desperation in Dean's voice. He hated to hear it. He tried to speak, to articulate his need, but all that came out was a dry croak. His throat felt desiccated.

"You want a drink?" Dean asked.

Sam's eyes drifted to his brother and he nodded. Dean rejoiced at the eye contact. It seemed to take a lot of effort for Sam to maintain it, and Dean was grateful for it. He picked up a cup of water from the table and brought the straw to his brother's lips. "Take it easy, okay. It's been a while since you've done this, and your muscles aren't up to scratch."

The first mouthful Sam tried dribbled down his chin. Dean tried to pull the cup away, but Sam shook his head. He needed the water.

"Okay, but go easy. We don't want you choking."

Sam drew a mouthful of water and allowed it to trickle down his throat. He did cough a little, but it was worth it to him, as the dryness in his throat was immediately relieved.

"Better?" Dean asked, and Sam nodded. "You know, as modes of communication go, this is pretty basic," Dean said. "Can you try and talk for me?"

Sam nodded again and tried to speak. He could only manage a low whisper that Dean couldn't hear.

Dean lowered his head to listen. "Try again, Sammy."

Sam rallied the last of his energy and focused on being heard. "What happened?"

It was barely a whisper, but it was his brother's voice, and the sound of it made Dean grin. "You got yourself hit by a car, buddy."

Sam frowned. That made no sense in his mind. Not when the last thing he remembered, he had been far from any passing cars.

"What do you remember?" Dean asked.

Sam swallowed and tears sprang to his eyes. "Lucifer."

"You mean he was there?"

It suddenly all made sense to Dean, how something as mundane as crossing the street had taken out his brother. Sam must have been seeing Lucifer again. He had been distracted by the fallen angel and had been hit by a car. It all added up.

Sam looked confused. "You were there."

Now Dean was confused again. He hadn't been with Sam; he had been miles away at the time of the accident.

"Sammy, you aren't making sense here," Dean said. "I wasn't with you."

Tears streaked down Sam's cheeks. "It wasn't me. It was Lucifer. I didn't do it."

Dean saw the tears, and he was confused. He didn't know what Sam was talking about. Unless… Was it possible that Sam hadn't been hit by accident? Could he have been persuaded to take his own life by Lucifer? It would explain what Sam was saying.

"Didn't do what? Sammy, I don't understand."

Sam shook his head in frustration. He couldn't seem to make Dean understand. It wasn't a car. It was Lucifer. Lucifer had been in him, forcing him to do those things; it wasn't his fault.

At that moment, the door opened and Charlotte came in with an orderly. "We're just going to take him down for an MRI now," she said, addressing Dean.

Dean frowned. "Another MRI? What's the problem?"

"No problem. Doctor Saunders ordered it as a precaution."

Sam's eyes drifted to Dean. He tried to focus but they swept past his brother and rested on the opposite wall. He was getting tired, and it made it hard to maintain eye contact. More than anything, he wanted to sleep again, but he needed to know what was happening here. He couldn't speak freely with others in the room though, so he nodded to his brother and allowed his eyes to fall closed.

Dean sighed as he saw his brother succumb to sleep again.

"It's okay," Charlotte said. "He's just resting."

"I know." Dean raked a hand over his forehead. "I'm just sick of watching him sleep, you know what I mean?"

Charlotte nodded. "It's understandable, but you are going to have to get used to it. Sam is going to be exhausted for a while. Just remember, it's real sleep he's getting now; he's not slipping away from you again."

The brakes from Sam's bed were released, and he was wheeled out of the room. Dean watched them go, knowing he wouldn't truly relax until his brother was by his side again.

* * *

Sam was jolted awake as he was set on the table of the MRI machine. His eyes opened and roved the room.

A nurse was leaning over him. "You're okay," she said. "We're just getting you settled.

Sam nodded, not wasting the energy needed to speak. There was nothing she could tell him that he couldn't work out for himself.

"We're about to get started. I will just be in the booth next door." She placed a small pod in his hand. "If you need anything, just pressed the call button."

Sam flinched as he felt the table he was on rolling backwards into the machine. He was uncomfortable, but it was nothing compared to the confusion he was feeling. He didn't understand how he came to be in a hospital and why Dean was saying he had been hit by a car. Nothing made sense.

The last clear image he had was of Dean's face, broken and bloody as he sagged against the door of the Impala. The memory was slightly fragmented, but he clearly remembered the crack of bone as he slammed his fist into Dean's jaw. Except it wasn't him, it was Lucifer using his body as a meat suit.

There were other, more painful memories preceding that one. The distinct snapping sound of Bobby's neck. The crack of a gunshot to the chest. The foul squelching sound as Castiel was blown to smithereens.

His breath came in pants as he remembered, and a tinny voice came over the speakers.

"John, I need you to calm down. I know it's uncomfortable, but we need you to keep still."

How was he supposed to calm down when memories of the murder of his friends assaulted him? Murders that he himself had executed. It had been Lucifer, but if Sam had been stronger, none of it would have happened. It had seemed so easy when selling the idea to Dean and Bobby. All he had to do was to wrest control from Lucifer for a moment, long enough to open the cage and dive in. But he wasn't strong enough. He had failed. He didn't understand what happened next though.

He could explain away the hospital part—he had been shot in the chest. While that explained the fact he was in the hospital, it didn't explain what happened to Lucifer—he wouldn't have just abandoned Sam's body as a vessel—or how Dean was alive. Lucifer had been determined to beat him to death. Why would he have stopped? How was there even a hospital to come to? If the apocalypse had happened, the world should have been half destroyed. Millions dead. America wiped off the map. The only explanation was that it had been averted somehow. But Sam didn't understand how?

His thoughts were a tangle of questions, questions that couldn't be answered until he could speak with Dean again. With nothing else to do, he closed his eyes and waited.

* * *

Bobby stayed at the motel for a few hours, but his thoughts stayed in the hospital with Dean and Sam. He wanted to see Sam awake more than anything, but he knew Dean needed some time alone with his brother. They both deserved that.

Sam was waking up. That made Bobby happier than he thought possible. He didn't realize how hard the last two weeks had been on him until it was over. As he had driven back to the motel, he had needed to stop to stem the flow of tears. Bobby wasn't a man given to showing emotion, but the Winchester brothers had a knack for worming their way into his heart.

Now, after weeks of waiting, Sam was coming back to them. Bobby knew it wouldn't be easy. Sam had been out for a month. His muscles would have atrophied. He would need therapy to get him back on his feet fully, but they could handle that. It would be hardest on Sam; he had been a strong, virile man before, but for a while, he would be dependent on others to help him with his most basic needs. Bobby vowed to help him as much as was possible.

He dropped the magazine he had been attempting to read and rubbed at his tired eyes. It was only eight-thirty, but he was tired out. It had been a hell of an emotional day.

Despite his exhaustion, he wasn't ready to go to bed. He wanted to be at the hospital again, with his boys.

Pushing himself to his feet, he grabbed the car keys from the nightstand and made his way to the door. He told himself that he was just going to see if Dean needed a ride back to the motel, but in truth, he was just hoping to see Sam with his eyes open for a change.

* * *

Sam was sleeping when they brought him up from the MRI. Dean was disappointed, but not surprised. He let his brother sleep for a while. He wasn't planning to go back to the motel tonight, so he had all night to talk to his brother; if his brother woke again that was.

The door clicked open, and he looked up to see Doctor Saunders coming in.

"You're working late, Doc?" he said.

She nodded. "I'll be off home soon. I just wanted to check on John once more. How is he?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing. How were the MRI results?"

"Nothing unexpected. There are no signs of brain damage that we can discern."

Dean exhaled a gust of relief. "Thank God."

"It's great news. Tomorrow, someone is going to run an EEG on John, and we will see if his waking brain is showing any difference to the last test. Have you been able to speak with him at all?"

"Yeah, he was talking earlier, but he was confused; he didn't remember how he got here."

"That's perfectly normal. It's common that a patient coming out of a coma will suffer confusion about events before the trauma. I'm sorry to say, John has a long road of recovery ahead of him."

Dean's brow furrowed. "But he's awake now."

The doctor smiled sadly. "Which was the hardest part for us to wait for. For John, the hardest part is still coming. Tomorrow, a physical therapist will come and evaluate how his muscles are reacting. It's common for them to atrophy during a coma the length of John's. He's going to need physical therapy to recover his strength."

"What do you mean strength?"

"John is going to have trouble with simple things: walking, eating, sitting."

"Sitting?"

"His muscles are going to be weak."

Dean scowled at the floor. He didn't want to think of his brother having to go through more. He wanted to take him home already. He didn't think Sam would react well to losing his strength either. He would hate to feel weak.

"Don't lose heart, Dean. He has come this far;, he will come the rest of the way, too."

Dean nodded absently and exchanged goodbyes with her as she pushed open the door and left.

He looked down at his brother. Sam's eyes fluttered open and came to rest on Dean.

"Hey, Sammy, how're you feeling?" he asked.

"Tired." Sam's voice was still a hoarse whisper, but it was louder than last time.

"You'd think you've had enough rest for a few weeks," Dean quipped.

Sam frowned. "Why?"

Dean paused. He didn't know if he should tell Sam how long he had been out for. What if it upset him?

"Dean, what happened? Where did Lucifer go?" As Sam's agitation increased so did the beep of the heart monitor.

"Whoa, calm down," Dean said. "You're going to have those nurses running in here in a panic. Take a deep breath and calm down."

"What happened?" Sam demanded.

Knowing his brother wouldn't calm until he had heard the truth, Dean began his explanation. "I told ya, you were hit by a car. I think you were tripping out and seeing Lucifer again."

"Seeing him? No, he was there; I remember."

"Okay, Sammy, he was there. However it happened, it doesn't matter now. All that matters is that you're okay."

The door opened. Dean looked up, expecting to see Charlotte or Beth, but it was Bobby that stepped in.

Bobby's eyes drifted to the heart monitor and he saw the staccato lines tracing the screen. "What's happened?" he asked.

"He's just worked himself up into a panic. Haven't you, Sammy."

Bobby stepped closer to the bed and into Sam's line of sight.

Sam's eyes widened further and the little color he had disappeared as he blanched. His breath came in gasping pants and an alarm sounded on the heart monitor.

"Bobby?" he rasped.

"I'm here, boy. You're fine," Bobby said, stepping closer.

Sam's eyes widened impossibly, and he drew in a shuddering breath. "But you're dead!"

* * *

**The response to the last chapter blew me away. I am thrilled that so many of you are enjoying the story. **

**I have posted a new one-shot. It's a tag to 2.14: Born Under A Bad Sign. **

**Summary:** Meg took out insurance when she possessed Sam. Now Dean and Bobby are left fighting to save him. LIMP!SAM


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta'ing this and for all her help and encouragement through the writing process.**

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

The door flung open, and Beth swept into the room followed by an unfamiliar doctor.

Bobby moved quickly away from the bed, but Dean remained frozen in place. His brother's words reverberated around his mind. _'But you're dead!'_ What was wrong with his brother? Was he brain damaged after all?

Dean was bodily shoved away from the bed as the doctor struggled to get to Sam's bedside. He allowed himself to be pushed to stand by the window with Bobby.

"John, I need you to calm down," the doctor commanded. "Your heart is beating too fast."

Sam's breath continued to come in gasps and his gaze remained fixed on Bobby. He looked terrified.

"What's happening to him?" Dean demanded.

The doctor shrugged off his question. He was busy trying to calm Sam. It was Beth that answered. "We're not sure. What happened before this started?"

"We were just talking and he got upset."

"Panic attack?" Beth questioned.

The doctor nodded. "I think so. Let's try diazepam."

Sam shook his head rapidly. "No! No sleep!"

"We have no choice, John," the doctor said. "Your body can't handle this stress. You need to calm down."

Sam drew a deep rasping breath and tried to release it slowly, but he couldn't manage it. He was overcome with panic. He didn't understand how Bobby could be alive when he had seen him die. The only explanation was that he had lost his mind and that scared him more than anything.

Beth drew up the required dose of diazepam and looked at Sam apologetically as she injected it into his IV line.

Sam reached for the line, determined to pull it out of his arm, but strong hands gripped his and held him back.

"No, John. You need that."

Dean watched his brother struggle with horror. Sam was like a man possessed. He bucked against the hands that held him down, but his movements were not as powerful as they once would have been. The combination of muscle atrophy and the sedative working its way through his system worked against him.

Sam's eyes roved the room. He was searching for his brother. He was sure that if Dean was there, he would be helping him. But when his eyes fell upon Dean, he saw that he was standing idly by the window, just watching.

Dean saw Sam's eyes lock on him, and he recognized Sam's expression; he looked betrayed.

Slowly, the drugs worked, and Sam flopped boneless against the bed. His eyes sagged to half-mast, and he looked completely out of it. The doctor released his hands, and Sam made no further attempts to rip out his IV. There was no point now; the drugs had done their work.

The doctor looked at the monitor with satisfaction as he saw the readout return to normal. Beth adjusted the cannula under Sam's nose as it had been pulled loose in his struggles.

"That's better, John," she said softly. "Nice and calm."

If Sam could have mustered the energy to glare at her, he would have. He couldn't though. All his energy had been expended in the struggle. He merely stared at the opposite wall.

The doctor's work done, he swept out of the room. Beth rearranged Sam's blankets and patted his hand and then she left, too.

Dean stepped closer to the bed and reached out to grip Sam's arm, but Sam flinched away from him.

Sam felt guilty as he saw his brother's eyes tighten as he pulled away from him, but he didn't want to be touched. He felt betrayed. Dean had stood and watched as they pinned him to the bed. His brother would never have done that before. He would have helped Sam.

"Sammy, I'm sorry," Dean said sincerely. "But there was nothing I could do. You needed to calm down. You were making yourself sick."

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "Doesn't matter."

Dean knew that it did, but he didn't push the topic. He had more pressing concerns.

"Who told you Bobby was dead?" He had been thinking on what Sam had said, and the only explanation he could come up with was that someone—namely Lucifer—had been whispering lies to Sam.

Sam turned his head away. "Tired now."

Bobby tentatively stepped closer to the bed. He didn't want to startle Sam, but he had to know what he meant. "We know you are, boy, but we need you to explain what you're thinking. Why do you think I'm dead?"

Sam didn't want to answer any of their questions; he wanted to be left alone. His mind wouldn't let him rest though. It kept returning to Bobby. He had seen him die, had felt the release as he twisted his hand and snapped Bobby's neck. It didn't matter whether it was him or Lucifer that had done it. He remembered it clearly. He had watched Bobby fall to the floor, dead, so how was he here now?

Feeling besieged and beleaguered Sam spoke. "I remember. I saw it happen. I made it happen."

An idea occurred to Bobby and his heart contracted. With a twisting sensation in his gut, he asked, "Sam, what's the last thing you remember? Where were you?"

Sam battled against the tiredness overwhelming him to answer one last question. "Lawrence. Stull."

Dean drew in a hissed breath as understanding dawned. "No!" he whispered.

Sam locked eyes with his brother and nodded. "Stull." With that said, he allowed his eyes to fall closed and sleep took him.

* * *

Beth sat with Sam while Dean and Bobby went to the family room to talk. They didn't want to disturb Sam with their talking, and they didn't want to risk him hearing something he shouldn't.

"I don't understand, Bobby. How is it possible?"

"He had a hell of a knock to the head with that car," Bobby said. "Bad enough to cause a bleed. Who knows what other damage was done. Then there was the cardiac arrest. They said oxygen was compromised. That can mess things up too."

"But they did an MRI scan today, and the doc said there was no damage."

"The brain's a funny thing, Dean."

Dean sighed and raked a hand across his face. "Dammit. I can't believe this."

Dean had thought things would be easier now Sam was awake, but they had just got a ton more complicated. If his brother really had amnesia, how were they supposed to tell him?

"You think we should have told the doc?" Bobby asked.

"No." Dean crossed his arms over his chest. "I didn't like him. He hurt Sam."

"He had to," Bobby said reasonably. "Sam was trying to yank out his IV. He wasn't acting within his right mind."

"Sam's not crazy!" Dean's tone was harsh.

"I never said he was," Bobby said softly. "What I mean is that Sam wasn't acting like himself."

Dean scoffed. "If you'd just seen someone rise from the dead, you'd be a little freaked, too."

Bobby smiled. "True. Poor kid."

"We'll tell Saunders in the morning." Dean forced himself to sound positive. "She'll be able to fix this."

Bobby frowned. He didn't think Dean was really so naïve to think that the doctor would be able to provide a magic cure for Sam. He knew better than that. Dean was lying to himself. Bobby understood the need. He didn't want to think of Sam suffering more than he already had either.

"What if she can't," Bobby asked tentatively. "What if Sam really has lost all that time."

Dean had been trying not to think of that since he realized how deep Sam's confusion went.

"We'll help him get it back," Dean said.

Bobby took off his cap and ran a hand through his graying hair. "Do we really want to?"

Dean's gaze snapped to Bobby. "What do you mean?"

"Well the last couple of years haven't exactly been a walk in the park for Sam."

Dean's mouth dropped open. Of course they hadn't been easy years. Sam had been through so much. He had been in the cage. He had run around for a year without a soul, racking up a body count of innocent victims. Then there had been Eve, Castiel, Lucifer, leviathans. The list kept growing.

A slow smile crept across his face. "He's forgotten."

"Exactly," Bobby said, smiling too. "If we're right, and he's forgotten all this, it could be a blessing in disguise."

This was more than Dean could have hoped for. Hell, Lucifer, all of it wiped clean from Sam's mind. This was the best thing to happen to them in years.

"My God," Dean breathed. "I can't believe it."

Bobby grinned. "Yep. Looks to me like this accident could have been the best thing to ever happen to Sam."

Dean nodded. "Let's hope it wasn't just the post-coma confusion then."

"We're hoping for amnesia?" Bobby asked with a quirked brow.

Dean rubbed his hands together. "Damn right we are."

* * *

When Sam awoke the next morning, Dean was sitting by his bed, but Bobby was nowhere in sight.

Dean and Bobby had decided that it was best that Bobby keep his distance until Dean had a chance to explain things to Sam. They didn't want him freaking out again.

"Morning, Sam," Dean said brightly. "How are you feeling today?"

"Like someone pinned me down and drugged me," Sam said testily.

Dean was pleased that Sam's voice was stronger today. He was able to make himself heard without a struggle. It didn't ease the guilt that his words brought on though.

"I'm sorry about that, but I had to let them do it; I had no choice."

"Yeah, why's that?"

"Because, like it or not, you're in a hospital, and when the doctors tell you to calm down, you calm down. You were going to hurt yourself."

Sam rolled his eyes. It was such an endearingly familiar gesture that Dean smiled in spite of himself.

"So, Sammy, we need to talk." Dean leaned forward in his chair. "I know you've got a lot of questions, but I've got a couple for you first."

Sam nodded. He didn't expect it to be any other way. Dean's questions always came first. It was the way it always had been.

"Tell me the last thing you remember."

Sam looked down at the sheet. "Stull."

"What was happening?"

Sam looked him in the eye. "I remember beating you to death."

Dean flinched, remembering the scene all too well. The agony of the beating made so much worse by the fact it was his own brother's fists that were raining down on him.

Shaking off the memories, he asked his next question. "What else do you remember?"

Sam swallowed. "Waking up here."

Dean exhaled in a rush. Sam had forgotten it all. He was filled with equal parts joy and sadness. Joy because the burden of those two years had been lifted, and sadness because all the memories he shared with his brother from those two years were gone. A tear sprang to his eye and slid down his cheek.

Dean wiped at his face carelessly. "I don't know what to say to you, Sammy. Something has happened, and I don't know how to tell you."

Sam knew from the tears that it was something bad and something about him. Only that could have drawn emotion from Dean, a man who prided himself on being strong.

Sam watched it fall and frowned. "What's wrong with me? Am I dying?"

Dean smiled ruefully. "No, Sammy. You're gonna be fine."

Sam exhaled in a rush. The fear that it was his life on the line had been so real. If he was going to live, he could handle anything else.

"So, what is it?"

"Stull, Lucifer, the whole thing happened more than two years ago."

Sam drew in a shaky breath. "I've been here two years?"

Dean shook his head. "No, Sammy. You've been here a month."

Sam's heart began to pound. Two years! He was missing two damn years of his life. How could he have just lost two years? How could he get them back?

Dean heard the increased pace of Sam's heart monitor and he reached out and gripped his brother's arm. "Sam, you need to calm down. If you get worked up, they're just going to come back in here and sedate you again."

Sam battled to calm himself. Slowly, his heart calmed and his breath came even again.

"Two years?" he asked.

Dean nodded soberly. "I'm sorry."

Tears sprang to Sam's eyes and he thumbed them away. "I can't believe it. What happened?"

"You took a knock to the head when the car hit you and some other stuff happened." Dean didn't want to have to tell his brother how close they had come to losing him.

"No, I mean what happened to the apocalypse?" Sam asked. "How did we do stop it? It has been stopped, right?"

Dean smiled widely. "You did it Sammy. You beat the devil."

Sam's mouth gaped. "How?"

"To be honest, I don't know. One moment Lucifer was beating down on me, the next, you were you again. You opened the cage and you…" He broke off. Images of his brother toppling into the cage assaulted him. "You took him down, Sammy."

Sam couldn't believe it. He had done it. He had tried so hard. The whole time Lucifer had been in him he had been fighting to take control, but he had been so weak.

"I did it," he breathed.

"Yeah, you did."

"But if I took him down, how did I get out?"

"Cas brought you out," Dean said.

"Cas is alive?" Sam asked, startled.

Dean paused. He didn't want to deliver this new blow, but he had to. He couldn't lie to his brother, not again. "He was, Sammy. Something brought him back, but we lost him. Some bad stuff went down, and now he's gone."

"Oh." Sam didn't know what to say. The news that his friend had been killed was physically painful. Tears sprang to his eyes and slid down his cheeks. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"Yeah, me too," Dean said sadly.

"And Bobby? How is he alive? He is alive, right?" Sam was scared to hope. He wanted his surrogate father back more than anything.

"Cas brought him back. He healed me up too. Whoever brought him back, gave him the full angel power up. He was allowed back into heaven and everything. Then, like I said, some stuff went down, and we lost him."

Sam nodded. "What went down? What have I missed?"

Dean sighed. He had been afraid of this question. "Sam, do you trust me?"

"Of course." Sam answered without hesitation. "You know I do."

"Then trust me when I say you don't want to know."

Sam chewed his lip. He did trust his brother, but he wanted to know what happened to him. He had been to hell for crap's sake. How could he have forgotten that?

"Please, Sammy, just trust me on this; you don't want to know."

Sam nodded reluctantly. "Okay, Dean. But if there's something I need to know, you'll tell me, right?"

"I promise."

Sam leaned his head back on the pillow. "Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy."

"Why do they keep calling me John?"

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading, especially those of you that review. I never thought so many people would enjoy this little story of mine. My goal when I started posting was to reach 100 reviews, and I am almost there now. **

**Yesterday, I posted a new one-shot called The Phone Call, and I added another chapter to Parting Gifts. Please give them a look and let me know what you think. **

**CoM x **


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta'ing this and for all her help and encouragement through the writing process.**

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

Not for the first time, Doctor Saunders paused at the door to John Smith's room and peered through the window. The two brothers seemed deep in conversation. She didn't want to interrupt them, but she had put off this particular job all morning, wanting to give them their privacy.

She tapped on the door and pushed it open. Dean looked up and gave her a rare smile when she walked in. "Hey, Doc. We've been waiting for you."

She smiled in return. "Well, here I am. John, I'm Doctor Saunders. I have been taking care of you since your arrival."

"Nice to meet you," Sam said politely.

"I was hoping I could have a moment alone with you," she said.

Dean frowned. "What's wrong?"

"There's nothing wrong. I need to go through some questions with John, and it might be a little easier on us both if we're alone."

Dean didn't like the sound of that. He wanted to be there for his brother. "What questions?"

"I need to do an assessment of Sam's memory retention following the accident. It's standard procedure."

Dean paused. He didn't know whether to tell her about Sam's apparent amnesia or let her find out for herself. Sam spoke first, answering the question for him.

"It's okay, Dean," he said. "I'll be fine. You go get yourself a coffee or something."

Nodding reluctantly, Dean got to his feet. "I'll be close. If you want me, shout."

Sam smiled. "I will."

Dean left the room, and Sam and the doctor were left alone.

"Okay, John, I am going to do something called the Galveston Orientation and Amnesia test. I will ask you some questions, and I would like you to answer as well as you can."

"Yeah, about that…" Sam rubbed at his nose awkwardly. "I've been talking to Dean, and there is a pretty big deficit in my memory."

The doctor frowned. "Okay. Well, let's work through these questions, and we'll see what we find out. First, can you tell me your name?"

"John Smith." It felt strange to use the alias. They had always been Sam and Dean, no matter what surname they had used. Sam had asked Dean about it, and he'd said that they had a little help with their last identity change from a man named Frank and he'd picked out the new moniker.

"That's good. Now, can you tell me when you were born?"

"May second, nineteen eighty three," Sam said promptly.

"And where?"

"Lawrence, Kansas."

"That's excellent, John. Do you know where you are now?"

Sam looked at the bracelet on his wrist and rolled his eyes. "Bozeman County General hospital."

The doctor laughed. "Okay, that was an easy one. Do you know the date?"

Sam shook his head. He hadn't thought to ask Dean the date.

"That's okay. Details are bound to be a little fuzzy. It's perfectly normal. Can you remember how you came to be in the hospital?"

Sam frowned. He was tired of the questions, especially the ones he didn't know the answers to. "I don't remember. The last thing I remember I was with my brother on a road trip. We went back to Kansas."

"That's good," the doctor said in an encouraging tone.

"Not so much," Sam said. "That was in two thousand and ten."

The doctor's mouth dropped open. "Oh."

Sam smiled wryly. "Exactly. I remember everything since I woke up, clearly, but before that, I don't remember a thing for two years."

Doctor Saunders had never diagnosed a genuine case of retrograde amnesia in all her career, but unless she was much mistaken, that was what this was. John had lost two years of his life.

"Okay, John, I think we can do away with the questions for now," she said. "I'm going to arrange for a neurologist to come talk to you."

Sam nodded tiredly. "Okay."

She picked up her clipboard and got to her feet. "I'll let your brother know we're done."

"No, please don't," Sam said. "I need a minute alone."

She nodded understandingly. "Okay, I will ask the neurologist to come speak to you later today. We'll give you a little time to yourself."

"Thanks," Sam said hoarsely.

* * *

Soon after the doctor left the room, a tall man entered and introduced himself as Peter Virginia, a physical therapist.

Sam had thought this might be coming. He felt as weak as a kitten, and he hadn't even tried anything more strenuous than sitting up in bed.

"I'm here to get you back on your feet in the literal sense," Peter said after introductions were made. "While you were unconscious, we exercised your joints to stop them stiffening and contracting, but now we are dealing with something called muscle atrophy. It boils down to weakness. I'm sure you're feeling the difference already."

Sam nodded. "I feel weak as a kitten."

"That's exactly what I am talking about. Now, if you're feeling up to it, I'd like to run a few tests."

"Sure. What do I need to do?"

Peter clapped his hands together. "First things first, let's see what you can do already. Raise your arms for me."

Sam raised his hands in front of his chest. It took a lot of effort, and they only rose to shoulder level, but at least it was movement. Sam held the pose for about five seconds before allowing his hands to fall at his sides again

"That's great," Peter said encouragingly. He picked up Sam's hands. "Now squeeze my hands as hard as you can."

Sam's brow furrowed with the effort it took, but it was worth it as he saw Peter's fingers whiten under the pressure of his grip.

"Okay, that's enough of that." Peter winced and massaged his fingers. "Your hands are obviously fine. I'm guessing all the hand holding your brother did made a difference."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean hand holding? That'll be the day."

Peter smiled. "You might be surprised. Now, let's move onto your legs. As the strongest muscles, these will be the ones you notice the most difference in." He pulled back the sheet covering Sam's legs. He lifted Sam's leg so his knee was bent and then pressed the palm of his hand against Sam's heel. "I want you to push back at me with us much force as you can."

Sam tried and was pleased when he was able to straighten the almost leg completely.

"That's excellent," Peter said. "You've got guardian angels looking after you, man. You're in great shape for the circumstances."

"So, can I get up and out of bed sometime soon?"

Well, I don't know about going for walks, but we can definitely get you into a chair for a change of scenery."

Sam scowled.

"Don't let it get you down, buddy. You don't realize just how lucky you are. I've seen people come out of comas after only a couple of weeks with a lot more muscle wastage than you're showing."

Sam tried to find comfort in his words, but he was still disappointed. Although he had only woken a day ago, he was already sick of the hospital. He wanted to get back out there with his brother. If he had to do recovery time, he could do it at Bobby's place.

"So, you want to try the chair?" Peter asked.

"As long as I can walk there."

Peter grinned. "As long as you don't mind a compromise. Stay right here." He disappeared out of the door and came back with a metal contraption. It was a walker like the one an old person would use.

Sam raised his eyebrows. "You can't be serious."

"Dead serious. If you want to try standing, you have to use this."

Sam stared him down.

"C'mon, John, don't you want to sit in the chair?"

Sam swung back the blankets and eased himself to the edge of the bed. His long legs swept to the ground and his toes curled away from the cold floor.

"Steady, now, don't be rushing yourself." Peter plunked the walker down in front of Sam and leaned over and gripped the waistband of Sam's sleeping pants. "Are you sure about this?"

"Dead sure," Sam said. He wanted to be in a chair when he saw his brother again, not lying in bed like some feeble person.

"Okay then. One, two, three, and up you come."

Sam pushed down of his feet and he slowly rose to a standing position. His legs shook and his knees threatened to buckle, but through sheer determination, he remained standing.

There was a plush chair beside the bed that Dean had been using to sleep in. Sam forced himself to raise one foot and take a step. He almost toppled sideways, but Peter stepped in and braced his side. Between the two of them, they managed to get Sam across the small space and into the chair.

"You're doing great, John. It's going to take you a little time to get your land legs back, but you'll get there."

Sam just nodded; he didn't have breath to speak. The two steps had exhausted him.

Peter patted him on the shoulder and moved the call button so it was in Sam's lap.

"I've got to get going. You'll see me again tomorrow, and we will start on your therapy sessions. If I were you, I'd make sure you get a good night's sleep. You're going to need it."

Sam grimaced and raised a hand in farewell as Peter strode from the room.

Resting his head back in the chair, Sam let his eyes close and his mind wander.

* * *

Dean was frustrated. He wanted to be with his brother, but the doctor had said he'd asked for some time. He figured an hour was plenty of time, but when he went back to the room Beth caught him at the door. "He's got company," she said.

"Who?" Dean peered through the window and saw a tall man sitting on the chair beside Sam's bed.

"Peter, our physical therapist."

Dean sighed. Right now, Sam would be discovering the physical cost of his coma. He wanted to be in there to support his brother, but something held him back. If he was in Sam's position, he would want privacy to face this.

"He'll be okay, Dean," Beth said consolingly. "He's fought his way this far."

"Yeah, I guess. Sam's always been so strong though. He's going to hate to have to fight to get it all back." He raked a hand through his short hair. "I just wish this was all over. I want to get him home."

"It will happen sooner than you think."

Dean nodded. "I'll leave them to it. Can you call me when they're done? I'll be in the family room."

"Why don't you take a real break? Get out of the hospital for a while."

Dean was sick of being stuck inside, but he wanted to be close in case Sam needed him.

"Here, I know what you can do." She slipped around the counter of the nurse's station and picked up a familiar green duffel bag. "We've got John's bags here, but he doesn't seem to have much sleepwear. Maybe you could go home and get him some more. I'm sure he would feel better in his own clothes."

Dean paused. Sam didn't have any more clothes than were in that bag. They lived on the road and didn't carry more than necessary. He could brave the shops to pick up some stuff for his brother to wear though. If Dean was right, Sam was going to be spending quite a lot of time in bed. Dean wanted him to be comfortable.

"Okay then. If he asks, tell him I'll be back later. I've got my phone, so if anything happens, _anything,_ you call me."

"I promise."

Dean cast Sam's door one last look of longing and headed to the bank of elevators.

* * *

Three hours later, Dean pushed open Sam's door and struggled in with his armful of bags.

"Hey, Sammy, I've been… What the hell are you doing?"

Sam quirked a brow. He wasn't _doing_ anything, other than sitting in a chair and reading a boring magazine. "Umm, nothing," Sam ventured.

"Why are you out of bed?" Dean demanded.

"Because I felt like a sap lying around."

"Sam, you woke up from a month long coma a _day _ago. You're supposed to be in bed."

Sam rolled his eyes. "It's not like I hopped out of bed on my own. The PT guy helped me."

Dean dropped the bags on the table and stepped around the bed.

"Okay, I'm sorry. It's just a surprise is all. I've been staring at your closed eyes for a couple of weeks, and I wasn't expecting you to be up and about so soon."

"Two weeks?" Sam's brow furrowed. "I thought I'd been here a month."

Dean cursed inwardly. "Yeah, I wasn't there when you had your accident. We'd separated for a while."

"We separated?" Sam asked. "Why would we do that?"

Dean raked a hand through his hair. "We needed some time apart." He didn't expect Sam to let it drop, so he was unsurprised when Sam's eyebrows rose even higher.

"Time apart?" He crossed his arms over his chest. "Okay, Dean, I'm trusting you and all, but what are you hiding? We wouldn't just 'need time apart' unless something big happened, so what did I do?"

Sam's sounded reasonably calm, but his mind was racing. It must have been something big if Dean had left him behind. The last time they separated, it had been after Sam had killed Lilith and let Lucifer loose. What could he have done that was bad enough to cause his brother to leave him again?

Dean felt horrible knowing Sam thought he had done something wrong. "No, Sammy, you didn't do anything wrong. It was me. I screwed up."

Sam frowned. "What did you do?"

"It's really best if you don't know." It wasn't that he was being a coward, not completely. He was worried that triggering Sam's memory by telling him about their fight might mean he would remember other things. What mattered most to Dean was making sure that Sam's memories stayed lost.

"Okay," Sam shrugged, "I'll trust you."

Dean was surprised that Sam was prepared to let it go so easy. It made him feel guilty. He didn't like to hide things from his brother.

Sam was troubled by Dean's expression. He looked so sad. He rallied to find a change of subject. "The neurologist came by this afternoon."

"He did? What did he say?"

"He thinks it's something called retrograde amnesia. It means I forgot things that came before the accident. It's like resetting a computer. My mind reset itself to a previous point. Apparently, to Stull."

"Did he say anything else?"

Sam nodded. "He said that they might come back on their own. There are things they can try, therapies, but they don't—"

"No, Sam!"

Sam flinched at his brother's tone. He sounded furious. "What's wrong?"

Dean took a deep calming breath. "You can't do it, Sam. No therapy. You _can't_ remember."

"Why not? What happened that was so bad?"

Dean was silent for almost a full minute. Sam wasn't sure he was going to answer. When he did, it was in a tone so quiet Sam had to strain to hear.

"You went to hell, Sam, and you were there a long time. Those memories were hurting you. If you remember, they will hurt you again."

Sam considered his words. He knew how Dean's memories of hell had tormented him, and he had no desire to experience that for himself. Dean was right; nothing good could come of remembering.

"Okay," Sam said slowly. "No therapy."

"You have to promise me, Sam. You're not going to try to remember. Just let the memories stay lost."

Sam saw the desperation in his brother's eyes, and he knew this was a promise he had to make and keep. "Okay, Dean. I won't try. I promise."

Sighing with relief, Dean sat back in his chair. "Good." He nodded to himself. "That's good."


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta'ing this and for all her help and encouragement through the writing process.**

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

Sam leaned back in his chair and sighed. He was exhausted. He never realized sitting upright was so much effort.

Dean watched him, concern furrowing his brow. "You need to lie down again?"

Sam shook his head. "Just a little longer."

"Sam, you're going to need to take it easy for a while. The doc said your muscles are going to be weak."

"I know," Sam said sadly. "The PT guy said I was lucky. I don't feel lucky."

Dean reached out a hand and squeezed his brother's arm. "You are lucky, Sammy. You survived against the odds, and now you're up and talking. It's…" He trailed off.

"What, Dean?"

Dean rubbed at his eyes. "It's more than I was expecting. I thought I lost you in more ways than one. They did this test, an EEG. They said that there might be brain damage. The way I see it, you sitting up and talking to me, it's a gift."

Sam fell silent. He didn't realize how close it had been. In truth, he knew little of his injuries. He opened his mouth to ask Dean to explain to him what exactly had happened, but he saw the haunted look in his brother's eyes, and it made him pause. He needed answers, but Dean wasn't the person to ask. It could wait until he saw the doctor again.

"Is Bobby coming by again?" Sam asked, trying to draw the look of devastation from his brother's eyes.

"You want him to? He's kinda been keeping his distance since you… uh…"

"Since I freaked out on him?" Sam grinned.

"Yes, since that." Dean didn't like to think of what happened immediately after his brother saw Bobby the last time.

"In my defense, I did think I was seeing a dead guy," Sam said. "Anyone would have freaked."

"True. So, do you want to see him?" Dean knew Bobby was likely sitting at the motel, waiting for the phone to ring.

"Definitely."

An idea occurred to Dean. "Fine, I'll call him, on one condition; you have to get back into bed before I make the call."

Sam scowled and Dean sighed. "I'm not trying to be an ass. I'm trying to stop you from face planting at my feet. You're exhausted, and you know it."

"Okay. You mind helping me out?"

"Whatever you need, man. Just tell me what to do."

"Let me hold your shoulders."

Dean squatted and Sam gripped his shoulders. With great effort—and a lot of help from Dean—Sam managed to get to his feet. Dean was right, he was exhausted, and his legs didn't want to support him. He listed to the side, but Dean caught him with an arm around the waist.

"Easy, Sammy. I got ya."

Sam half stepped, half threw himself towards the bed. He landed awkwardly, but he was at least on there. Dean huffed as he lifted Sam's legs and pushed them onto the blankets and then helped his brother roll over. Sam was panting by the time Dean had got him settled back against the pillows.

"For someone that's not eaten for a month you sure do weigh a lot."

Sam laughed weakly. "Cut the sweet talking and get Bobby here."

Dean pulled out his phone and grinned. "Sure thing."

* * *

Dean was right; Bobby was sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for the phone to ring. But the first call he received wasn't from Dean.

He was contemplating whether to go out for food or to wait for Dean to come back, when his phone rang.

He snatched it up. "Dean."

"Nah, man, it's Mackey."

In all the excitement of Sam waking up, Bobby had completely forgotten about Mackey and his faith healer gig.

"Hey, Mackey. Sorry about that. I've been waiting on a call is all."

"Everything okay with the Winchester guy?"

"Yeah. Things are better than okay in fact; he woke up yesterday."

"That's great news."

Bobby smiled to himself. It was more than great, it was the best news they'd had in too long to recall. After years of constant knocks, their luck was changing.

"So, how did things go with your faith healer?" Bobby asked.

"That's why I'm calling. He was the real deal, Bobby. A genuine healer. Not a reaper in sight. He fixed my busted eye."

Bobby scrubbed at his beard. "You sure?"

"I threw every test I had at him, and he sailed past. He's a strange guy for sure, but as far as I can tell, he's legit."

"I'll be damned."

"That was pretty much my reaction, too. I tell ya, it spooked the hell out of me. Not that I'm complaining. I have two working eyes for the first time in years. I'm gonna call this one a win."

Bobby had seen many strange things in his life, hunting evil opened you up to it, but he had never known of a genuine faith healer before. If only they had found this guy sooner. It could have saved two weeks of pain for Sam, Dean and him.

"Well, thanks for letting me know, Mackey, but we're past that point now. Like I said, Sam's awake, and as far as I know, he's doing good. I'm waiting on Dean to call me now actually."

"I best let you go then," Mackey said. "You need anything, give me a call."

"I definitely will. And thanks again, Mackey. I appreciate it. Sam and Dean, too."

"No worries. You take care of yourself."

"You too, Mackey."

They exchanged goodbyes and Bobby set the phone down on the nightstand. He pulled off his cap and ran his hands through his hair. Sam was awake, they had a genuine faith healer to call upon if they needed, and Mackey had depth perception again. Things were looking good.

The phone rang again, and this time Bobby checked the caller ID. It was Dean.

"Hey, Dean. Everything okay?" he asked immediately.

"Everything's fine. We were wondering if you'd be able to drop by the hospital. Sammy wants to see you."

"Are you sure? I don't want to freak him out again."

"I'm sure. We've had a talk, and Sam's up to speed on everything now."

"And he's okay?" Bobby asked fretfully. He was worried about Sam's state of mind.

"Yeah, he seems to be okay," Dean said.

"I'm fine," a voice called in the background.

Bobby laughed. It felt good to hear Sam's voice again. "Okay then. I'll be right over."

"See you soon, Bobby."

Bobby hung up the phone and smiled to himself as he pulled on his jacket. He grabbed his keys and set out to the hospital again.

It was only a short drive. He was soon pulling into the hospital parking lot. His footsteps were light as he made his way to the third floor.

Dean was waiting for him outside Sam's room. He paused midstep, wondering what could have drawn Dean from Sam's bedside. His heart lightened somewhat as Dean smiled at him.

"It's okay, Bobby. He's good. I just wanted to talk to you before you see him."

Bobby frowned. "What's the problem?"

"No problem really. I just want to warn you ahead of time; Sam knows he's lost the last couple of years. He's not happy about it, as you can imagine, but he's accepted that I say it's better if he doesn't know."

"And you don't want me letting something slip," Bobby guessed.

Dean nodded. "That's about it. I'm serious about this Bobby. The doctor he saw today said that his memory might return on its own. I'm praying that doesn't happen."

"Right there with ya, boy," Bobby said. He didn't want Sam remembering hell anymore than Dean did. Those memories would only hurt Sam.

"I'm thinking we have to be extra careful," Dean said. "I don't want the wrong word triggering a memory."

"You may have a point," Bobby said. "Have you spoken to the doc about this?"

"What can I say; I don't want my brother remembering hell? No, I can't talk to them. It's got to be you and me. Sammy said he won't go ahead with the therapy they suggested."

"That's good, right?"

"Yeah, I'm just worried."

"I know you are, boy. Me too. But there's nothing we can do other than be careful with what we say and keep an eye on him. Now, are you done chewing my ear off? I've kinda been hoping to talk to your brother."

Dean grinned, feeling a little guilty about delaying Bobby as long as he had. He knew how he would feel if the situation was reversed; he would have been chomping at the bit to see Sam.

"Sure."

He eased open the door and stepped inside. "Ah, damn," he said softly.

Bobby looked over his shoulder and saw that Sam was lying with his head tilted to the side and his eyes closed.

"I guess he's worn out," Bobby said. "He's had a heck of a day." He was disappointed to see Sam sleeping. He had seen enough of that over the last two weeks. They stepped into the room, and each headed to their usual chair each side of the bed.

"You think we should wake him?" Dean asked.

Bobby wanted Sam awake, but more than that, he wanted Sam to heal, and for that, he needed rest.

Before he could answer, the figure on the bed stirred and mumbled, "Not asleep."

Dean laughed softly. "You sure do a good impression of someone sleeping, buddy."

Sam fought against his heavy lids and forced them open. Blinking tiredly, he looked around the room. His eyes came to rest on the older hunter sitting beside him.

"Hey, Bobby."

Bobby grinned in response. He had known on the logical level that Sam was okay the minute he first opened his eyes, but he didn't truly believe it until that moment.

"Hey, Sam. How are you feeling?"

"Tired," Sam said honestly. "How about you?"

"Well, I sure am glad to see you awake," Bobby said. "You had us real worried for a while there."

"Dean told me. Sorry about that."

Bobby chuckled. Only Sam would think to apologize after everything he had been through.

Dean sank back in his chair. "It's all good now though, right? A few sessions of PT and we'll be able to bust you out of here."

Bobby frowned. He didn't think a few sessions of physical therapy were going to cut it here. Sam had been through a lot, and it was going to take him time to get back on his feet.

Dean didn't have Bobby's pessimistic outlook. He had seen his brother come through plenty worse before, and he knew his brother would be back on his feet in no time. Then they would be out on the road again, hunting together; their lives could go back to normal.

Hard as Sam tried, he couldn't stay awake for much longer. He only managed to talk with Bobby and Dean for another ten minutes before he drifted off to sleep again.

Dean sat forward in his chair and watched his brother sleep. Though it was the same thing he had been doing for the last two weeks, it was different now, as he didn't doubt his brother would wake in the morning.

"You coming back to the motel tonight?" Bobby asked, though he thought he already knew the answer.

"Nah. I think I'll stay here and hang with Sammy."

"You sure? He won't be happy if he knows you've slept here when there's a perfectly good bed back at the motel."

Dean smiled. "He'll flash me his bitch face, and then he'll get over it. Besides, I'm not ready to leave him yet. Who knows what trouble he can get himself in without me here."

Bobby understood that Dean was still uncomfortable leaving his brother. They had come too close to losing him. It would take a while for Dean to accept that he really was going to be okay.

"Okay, then. I'll see you in the morning."

Dean waved at him even as he allowed his chin to drop to his chest and his eyes to close.

Bobby smiled to himself as he closed the door softly behind him. His boys were going to be okay.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading, especially those that have reviewing. I am 1 review away from my goal of 100 and I am beyond excited. If you enjoyed the chapter, please take a moment to let me know what you thought.**

**CoM x **


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta'ing this and for all her help and encouragement through the writing process.**

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

"You can do it," Peter said encouragingly. "Just a little further."

Sam gripped the bar with all his strength and concentrated on forcing his foot to rise from the floor. He was exhausted. He had been working all morning, and more than anything, he needed sleep. He needed sleep desperately, but he _wanted_ to be working on making the next few steps alone.

He gritted his teeth and pushed himself forward. His foot rose slowly from the floor and shook as he suspended it.

"That's great, John. Now one more step and we can take a break."

Sam leaned forward and his foot touched the floor. He smiled triumphantly and pushed himself to make the next step. Sweat beaded on his brow and his hands shook so much they rattled the parallel bars.

"I think that's enough for now," Peter said. He saw the signs of exhaustion in Sam and knew he was one step from dropping.

"One more," Sam said through gritted teeth.

Peter nodded to the nurse, and she pushed the wheelchair up behind Sam. Sam scowled as he felt the pressure against the back of his legs. He locked his eyes on Peter and forced himself to raise his left leg to take another step. His knee buckled and he listed against the side of the parallel bars. Peter stepped forward and grabbed the harness belt that Sam was wearing, steadying him.

"Down you go," Peter said, easing him into the chair.

Sam buried his face in his hands and huffed out an exasperated breath.

"You're doing great," Peter said, putting a hand on Sam's shoulder and squeezing it.

"This is great?" Sam scoffed. "I can barely take ten steps."

"Which is ten more than you were able to take a week ago," Peter said reasonably. "Give yourself some credit."

Sam was frustrated. Peter didn't understand the urgency. The longer Sam spent wasting time in the hospital, the more people that were hurt and killed as they didn't have Dean and Sam to save them.

Dean hadn't mentioned hunting once since Sam had woken up. Sam was glad in a way, he didn't want his brother out there alone, but he felt guilty about leaving people at risk. He hadn't shared these thoughts with Dean; there was no need to spread the shame.

There was a lot Sam wasn't sharing with Dean these days, his guilt for keeping Dean from hunting, the depression that was creeping in at him because of his slow progress recovering, and the niggling headaches he had been suffering with. He hadn't told Dean about them, but he had told the doctor. He wasn't so stupid as to hide symptoms that may mean something was still wrong. She ran a couple more tests and assured him that he was fine.

Sam was wheeled back to his bedroom, where Dean and Bobby were waiting for him. As the door was pushed open, they fell silent. Sam knew they were hiding something from him, but he guessed it was something about the two years he had lost, the two years that he was not supposed to remember for his own good.

Dean smiled as Sam was pushed into the room. "Hey there. How was PT?"

"Good," Sam said, forcing brightness into his tone.

"Yeah? What'd you do?"

"Just some walking," Sam said vaguely. He couldn't admit to his brother that he was only able to manage ten steps. He didn't want to see the downcast look in Dean's eyes when he learned just how far Sam still had to go.

What Sam didn't realize was that Dean was already well aware of Sam's slow progress and his declining mood. He had been taking care of Sam since he was a baby. There was little that missed his big brother radar and something as big as this didn't stand a chance.

Though he knew about Sam's depression, he didn't know what to do about it. He had broached the subject with Doctor Saunders, but now Sam was awake and cognizant, she couldn't discuss Sam's care with him the way she had before. She told him that it was normal for patients recovering the sort of trauma Sam had suffered to suffer from depression. She said she would broach the topic with Sam, but that was all she was able to say.

She had spoken to Sam about it the day before, but he had cut her off early. He told her he was fine, but if that changed, she would be the first to know. Sam knew that she would recommend drugs to help him, and he didn't want admit he needed chemical help just to keep him on track mentally. What would Dean say if he did?

In truth, Dean would have been relieved.

"So, what do you want to do this afternoon?" Dean asked, hoping to bring some of the light back to his brother's eyes. "Poker?"

Sam forced a smile. "Sounds good."

Bobby pulled out a deck of cards and began to deal.

That was how they spent their afternoon, playing cards, talking, and lying to each other.

* * *

Two weeks later, Sam had progressed to twenty steps with the aid of the parallel bars, and he could raise his hands all the way above his head and hold them there.

Peter raved about his progress. He said it was the fastest recovery he had seen. He praised Sam's efforts at every turn. None of this helped Sam though. He had sunk into depression so deep he didn't see how he would ever claw his way out again.

There was no hiding it from Dean now—not that he ever could. Bobby recognized the signs of depression in Sam as well, but he didn't know how to help his boy either.

"You need to eat something, Sam," Bobby said. "You're not going to be able to do your PT If you're falling on your ass from low blood sugar."

Sam pushed the slop that passed as hospital food around his plate and sighed. "I know, Bobby. I'm just not hungry."

"Then get hungry. Dean's gonna be back soon, and if you've not eaten, he's going to be upset."

"So?" Sam said laconically. "He's not my mother."

"No, boy, he's better than that; he's your brother, and he's been through a lot. He needs you to pull it together and take care of yourself."

Sam sighed heavily and picked up a forkful of rubbery eggs.

The door swung open then, and Dean entered brandishing a paper sack and grinning like a fool.

"I come bearing gifts." He plunked the bags down on the table beside Sam's tray and pulled out Styrofoam packages. "Pancakes, sausage, and best of all, real coffee."

Sam couldn't help but smile at him. Dean looked a lot like he had the Christmas Sam was eight—when he had robbed a house so Sam could have some Christmas gifts—triumphant and excited.

"Dig in," Dean said encouragingly. "You're getting scrawny."

Sam opened the package of pancakes and took a large bite. He still didn't feel hungry, but he forced down mouthful after mouthful, tasting nothing, but taking in the sustenance regardless.

Dean and Bobby exchanged a satisfied glance as they watched Sam eat. They knew it didn't mean Sam was back to normal, but to their mind, it was a step in the right direction.

When Sam finally finished his meal, he pushed the table away and sat back.

"Feel better?" Bobby asked, casting him a meaningful look.

"Much," Sam lied.

They sat in quiet conversation for a while, waiting for a nurse to come help Sam get cleaned up and dressed. Dean had offered to help him many times, but Sam was embarrassed enough already without having his brother watching him struggle to wash himself. At least the nurses had professionalism.

When the nurse came in, Bobby and Dean excused themselves, promising to be back in that afternoon when Sam was finished with his PT.

They went to a diner together to have breakfast. When they had settled at a booth, Dean raised the subject they were both thinking of.

"What do you think?" Dean asked.

Bobby knew what he meant, but he feigned confusion for a minute to give himself time to think.

"About Sammy," Dean prompted. "How do you think he's doing?"

"He ate. You did good bringing in the food."

"Yeah, I guess. Though I don't think it was the hospital food that was putting him off."

Bobby frowned. "You know what the doctor said; depression is normal."

"Yeah, but Sam isn't any other ordinary Joe. He's Sammy. He's stronger than this."

"Depression isn't weakness, Dean," Bobby chided.

"I never said it was. I just mean that I didn't expect it to knock Sam on his ass the way it has. How can someone that beat the devil get taken out by this?"

"He's only human."

Dean raked a hand over his face. "Only human." He sighed. "I guess he is."

"We just need to give him time. He's come this far, he'll come the rest of the way."

Dean hoped that Bobby was right, as the man he had just left in a hospital bed was not the same one he had known two months ago. He had prepared himself for a difference because of the amnesia, but not for depression. He could fight ordinary monsters for his brother, but he couldn't fight this.

* * *

"You want to get back into bed, John?" Beth asked. "Or do you are you happy in the chair?"

"I'll stick with the chair, thanks."

Beth patted his arm and clicked the door closed behind her as she left.

Sam sat back in the wheelchair and ran a hand through his hair. It had been a good PT session. He had walked without holding the bars for the first time. It hadn't been far, but it felt like a victory to him. He was slowly clawing his way back to how he had been before the accident, and for the first time since in weeks, he was in a good mood.

He pulled the rolling table over to him and booted up his laptop. Dean had brought it in a few days ago at Sam's request.

The hospital's Wi-Fi service was slow, but it was better than nothing. Eventually, the news page loaded and Sam skimmed through the top stories. He was trying to reacquaint himself with the world after drawing a blank for the last two years.

A headline captured his attention on the Columbia Falls Daily News website, and he delved into the story. A hiker had gone missing in the Glacier National Park. He was found dead a week later, having suffered an animal mauling. It could have been a bear or a mountain lion or a host of other natural predators, but something about it didn't sit right with Sam. It could also be a werewolf.

Smiling to himself, he set about the simple task of hacking the Columbia Falls police department's database. Their security was a joke. Sam had the relevant page open within minutes. He checked the coroner's report. There was no mention of missing organs, least of all hearts.

Sighing to himself, Sam closed the laptop and pushed the table away. He didn't know why he was disappointed that it wasn't a werewolf. It wasn't as if he could go out on a hunt if it was something supernatural. He would be relegated to research mode. The thought occurred to him that that was all he would be good for if he never got his strength back fully. He would be left behind in the motel while Dean and maybe Bobby went on the hunts.

Desperation swept through him, dropping him into a gaping pit of despair. He would be next to useless. He couldn't let that happen. He needed to be out there with his brother, atoning for his sins.

"It's not going to happen if you stay stuck in this chair," he muttered to himself. He needed to work harder at his therapy. He wasn't doing nearly enough, just a couple of hours each morning, and the exercises he did alone in the afternoons; it wasn't enough.

His eyes drifted to the closed door. He was alone now. There was no one to tell him he shouldn't do it, no one to warn him of what could happen.

Sam locked the wheelchair's brakes and shuffled to the edge of the seat. He lifted his feet from the footrests and braced them against the floor. The shoes Dean had bought for him were more like slippers, and they didn't have good grip, so he toed them off, opting to go barefoot.

Gripping the arms of the wheelchair, he pushed himself to his feet. He was hit with a wave of vertigo almost immediately, but he took a deep breath and it passed soon enough. He looked at the expanse of space between him and the bathroom door. He had walked further in PT, but that was always with the parallel bars for him ready to cling. Now, he was going it totally alone.

"It's gotta be done," he said and raised his left leg slowly.

The first step was the hardest. He wavered for a moment, but kept his feet. The next step was easier, and the next easier still. He moved slowly but surely across the room towards the bathroom. The harder part came then, as he had to step backwards as the door opened towards him. He hadn't tried going in reverse before, but the ease with which he had walked across the room gave him confidence.

He managed it. The door swung open. Gripping the doorframe, he was able to pass through. He paused and braced himself against the counter. He was surprised to find that he was panting; it had taken more effort than he had thought to make it this far.

Staring into the mirror, he appraised himself. It was the first time he had done so since he awoke. His hair was longer than he remembered, and his face was thinner. He would have to take more care to eat in future, as he was starting to look gaunt. More disturbing than anything in his changed appearance was his eyes. They were circled by dark shadows and they were dull and lifeless. No wonder Dean was looking at him differently lately, he looked terrible.

He sat down on the closed toilet seat for a minute to rest his shaking legs. The walk had worn him out, and he knew he should call for help to get his back to bed, but Winchester pride reared its head. He had got there on his own, and he was going to get back again alone, too.

He braced his hands on his knees and forced himself to a standing position. A wave of vertigo hit him, and it made him sway on his feet. He waited for it to pass, but this time it didn't. The room swum before his eyes. He reached for the counter to steady himself, but his hand missed.

He knew what was going to happen a moment before it did. He knew he was going to fall, and there was nothing he could do about it.

He cracked his head against the side of the counter as the floor jerked up to meet him.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that has reviewed. I reached my goal of 100 reviews with the last chapter. Special thanks to everyone that helped me get there. **

**I posted a one-shot yesterday. It's called Sacrifice and it's one outcome for the season GR8 finale. You can find it on my profile. **

**Summary: **Closing the gates of Hell comes at a terrible price: _'Sam was gone, and this time he wasn't coming back.'_


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta'ing this and for all her help and encouragement through the writing process.**

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen  
**

Dean hummed to himself as he exited the elevator and strolled along the corridor. He was in a good mood. The success of his diner bought breakfast for Sam had buoyed his mood. He had brought a chicken salad in to hopefully persuade Sam to eat lunch, too. If it meant his brother would eat, he would ship in diner food for every meal. If Dean could just get him eating properly, it would be a weight off his mind. Maybe it would even help Sam's mood.

As he passed the nurse's station, he nodded to Charlotte. She smiled back.

"How is he?" he asked.

Charlotte smiled. "He's good. He did well in PT this morning."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "He did?"

"I'll let him tell you about it."

Dean smiled and continued down the corridor a little faster. He was wondering if whatever had happened to him in PT would have lifted some of Sam's depression.

He pushed open Sam's door and stopped dead in his tracks. Sam was nowhere to be seen. The wheelchair was in the middle of the room, empty, and Sam's shoes were discarded on the floor.

"Sam?"

There was no response. Dean's fear ratcheted up another level. He scanned the room, and saw the bathroom door was ajar. Crossing the distance in three strides, he swung it open and froze in place at what he saw.

Sam was lying prone on the floor. His arms were twisted under him, as if he had tried and failed to break his fall. There was a gash on his temple, and blood had pooled beneath his head.

"Sammy?"

Dean dropped to his knees beside his brother and cupped his face in his hands. His skin was cool. Dean's heart pounded in his chest. With shaking hands, he pressed his fingers to Sam's neck. He exhaled a gust of relief when he felt the strong steady pounding of life beneath his fingers.

He reached to cradle his brother's head, but stopped himself in time. Sam had a head injury,. aA head injury on top of a previous brain bleed. Sam was in real danger, again.

"Okay, Sammy. Just hang on a little longer," he said.

Sam didn't respond. His eyes remained closed and his face was void of all emotion.

Dean yanked the pull cord beside the toilet, summoning help. He heard soft footsteps, and then Charlotte's voice.

"John, is everything…" She trailed off as she caught sight of Sam on the floor and Dean kneeling beside him. "Oh my." For a moment, she was stunned then cool professionalism took over. "Dean, I need some help. Go to the nurse's station and tell them what happened. If there is no one there, press the red button behind John's bed.

"But that's the code button! He's not…"

"No, John's going to be okay, but I need help, and that will get people in here faster."

Sensing the urgency of the moment, Dean pushed himself to his feet and ran from the room.

Beth was at the nurse's station along with a doctor Dean didn't know the name of.

"My brother's had an accident," he panted. "He needs help!"

They hurried around the counter and raced to Sam's room. Dean followed them at a run.

Dean wanted to be with his brother, but he knew that Beth and her colleagues would be better able to help him, so he stood back and let them work. Sounds became muted and Dean's vision blurred as he watched them working over his brother.

The doctor barked orders and people came and went from the room for supplies. Someone pressed a gauze pad to Sam's temple and another fastened a brace around his neck. An orderly wheeled in a gurney, and Dean watched with fear tightening his gut as they eased his unconscious brother from the floor.

As they wheeled Sam to the door, Dean found his voice. "Where are you taking him?"

"He's going to need a scan," the doctor said. "We're taking him down to radiology."

"Can I come?" Dean wasn't ready to be apart from his brother again.

"No family members allowed," the doctor said. "Sorry."

Dean watched as they wheeled Sam from the room. A hand rested on his arm, and Dean turned his head slowly to look at Charlotte.

"I've got to go with John now. Will you be okay?"

Dean shrugged. He didn't really know. He felt sick to his stomach.

Charlotte noted Dean's pale complexion. She led him to a chair and pressed a glass of water into his hand. "He'll be okay, Dean," she said reassuringly. "The scan is just a precaution." She patted him on the arm and turned to leave.

"Charlotte, you'll tell me a soon as there's news, right?"

She paused at the door and turned to look at him. "I promise."

* * *

Dean was still waiting for Sam to return when Bobby strode into the room. Dean's head snapped up as he saw the door open, and he sighed when he saw Bobby.

"Good to see you too," Bobby said irritably.

"I was hoping you were Sam." Dean said. "What are you doing here anyway? I thought you were hanging back at the motel, waiting for a call from Frank."

"I was, but I got a call from the hospital telling me Sam had taken a tumble and you needed me."

Dean looked up. "I didn't need you."

Bobby scowled. "Of course you don't. Mr. Dean Winchester doesn't need anybody but his brother. Well suck it up, princess. I am as much a part of this as you are. I care about Sam, too, and it shouldn't have been a nurse calling me up to tell me what happened; it should have been you."

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. "You're right. I'm sorry. I was distracted, and I didn't think."

"You're forgiven," Bobby said with a smile. "Now tell me what happened."

"I don't really know. I found Sammy bleeding out on the bathroom floor."

Bobby visibly sagged on his feet. "How the hell did he end up in the bathroom?"

"He must have tried to take a walk and fell."

"He took a walk!" Bobby said incredulously. "That damn fool boy. What the hell was he thinking?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know, but I intend to find out."

Bobby sank down into a chair and leaned forward with his hands on his knees. "You might want to go easy on him, Dean."

"Easy on him! Do you know what I thought when I found him on the floor? I thought he was dead. The idiot could have killed himself!"

"I know that, and I know how scared you must have been, but put yourself in Sam's position for a moment. He's been knocked on his ass by fate, and he's struggling to get back on his feet. You know how depressed he's been lately…"

"You think he knew this would happen? That he was trying to hurt himself?"

"God, no. I'm saying I understand how he feels. It wasn't all that long ago that I was wheeling it around the place. I remember that desperation to make it better. If I could have got out of that chair and taken a stroll around, I would have done it. No matter how much of a damn fool idea it was."

Dean considered Bobby's words carefully. He could understand Sam's desperation to make it better. He wanted his brother back to how he had been, too, but that didn't mean Sam should go taking risks. As demonstrated by what had just happened, he could get hurt.

Bobby and Dean allowed the silence to lengthen as they each sat in quiet contemplation as they waited for news. It came half an hour later. Charlotte entered the room and took in the sight of the two worried hunters. Their gaze snapped to her as she stepped inside.

"How is he?" Dean asked immediately.

"He's okay. He's on his way back now. The scan was clear; there was no sign of damage. He's a little sedate though. He woke in the MRI and was distressed so we gave him a light sedative."

"You doped him?" Bobby asked with a quirked brow.

"We needed him calm for the scan. It was a very light sedative. He'll be back to normal in no time."

A few minutes later, the door opened and Sam was wheeled inside. Dean saw immediately what they meant about him being sedate. His eyes were at half-mast and his expression was serene. There was a gauze dressing on his temple, covering the gash Dean had seen.

Sam was eased into his bed again and the room emptied of all but Sam, Dean and Bobby.

"Hey," Dean said. "How are you feeling?"

Sam blinked lazily and tried to focus his gaze on his brother. "Headache," he murmured.

"Yeah, I bet. You really cracked your head on the way down. Want to tell me how that happened?"

"Fell," Sam said laconically.

Bobby huffed a laugh. "We figured that part out for ourselves, son. What were you doing in the bathroom anyway?"

Sam raised his eyebrows. "What do you think?"

"I think you were pushing yourself too hard," Dean said, leaning forward in his chair and locking his eyes on Sam. "In short, I think you were being a damn idiot."

Through the haze of medication, Sam felt a pang of hurt. "I didn't think it was that big of a deal."

"Not a big deal?" Dean said angrily. "Do you know how scared I was when I saw you on the floor? I thought you were dead!"

Sam flinched. "I'm sorry. I walked alone in therapy today. I thought I could do it again."

"That's great when it's safe with people there to help you. Why couldn't you have just waited for me?"

"Because you wouldn't have let me."

Dean knew Sam was right. If his brother had told him that he was able to walk alone, he would have been thrilled, but he wouldn't have let him try it again. He would have been scared Sam would get hurt. He would have been right.

Sam let his head fall back against the pillow. "You can chew me out later, Dean. I'm tired now." He was tired, but more than that, he wanted to get away from his brother. He couldn't stand to see the accusation and disappointment in his eyes.

Dean saw his exhaustion, and he nodded. "Okay, Sammy. You get some sleep."

Sam closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift on the ebb and tide of sedatives.

* * *

When Sam awoke Dean was nowhere in sight. Bobby sat alone by his bedside, with a magazine in his hands. As Sam shifted on the bed, Bobby looked up and tossed his magazine onto the table.

"How're you feeling, son?"

"Better," Sam said. "Less stoned. Where's Dean?"

"I sent him out to get some dinner for us."

Sam was surprised that Dean had left him willingly. Least of all for something so simple as food.

"He wasn't keen on the idea," Bobby said. "But I told him I wanted some time alone with you to talk."

Sam looked at Bobby curiously. "What do you want to talk about?"

Bobby leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands over his chest. "About you and what's happened to you."

"What's happened? Bobby, I took a walk is all."

"I'm not talking about that. Although that was a damn fool move. I'm talking about that hole of depression you are sinking into."

Sam winced. He had thought he had hidden it better than that. If Bobby knew, it was a foregone conclusion that Dean knew, too. All his efforts to act normal were wasted. He felt like a failure. He had been trying to protect Dean and Bobby, and it was pointless.

"I can't help it," he said. "You don't know how it feels, Bobby. I'm worse than useless lying in this bed."

"You are not useless. You're healing."

"I'm wasting time!" Sam said savagely. "Worse than that, I'm putting other people at risk because of it. I lost two years, but I'm not stupid enough to think the world changed in those two years. There are still fuglys out there that need killing, and there are still people dying. You and Dean should be out there fighting them, but instead, you are wasting your time here with me."

"We're not wasting time," Bobby said sadly. "We're right where we should be."

Sam scoffed. "Taking care of the weak one."

"No, Sam. We're taking care of the strong one. You have been strong to come through all this, and you're still coming through it now. You need to give yourself time."

"Did you give yourself time, Bobby? After that demon landed you in a wheelchair."

"That was different, Sam. I had no chance of coming out of that chair on my own. It took me a damn demon deal. You're getting out of the chair. You just need to give yourself time."

"We don't have time, Bobby. Are you honestly telling me that here is where you should be? That there is nothing going on in the world that you should be dealing with?"

Bobby sighed. "I'm not going to lie to you, boy, bad stuff is happening."

"And you're not working it because you are here."

"We're here, but there are a dozen other hunters working on it. This time, it's not our responsibility to save the world."

Sam smirked. "And Dean's on board with this. He's the poster child for misplaced responsibility."

"Dean is exactly where he wants to be," Bobby said honestly. He and Dean were still working the Leviathan problem, but they were doing it with help for a change. Every other hunter Bobby knew was working towards taking out the leviathans.

Sam sighed. "This is all so messed up, Bobby. I don't know what to do anymore. I'm just so tired of it all."

"I know how you feel," Bobby said. "I carried a bullet around in my shirt pocket for a year, waiting for the day I would have the strength to load it into the gun and pull the trigger."

Sam frowned. He didn't want to think of Bobby like that.

Bobby saw the sadness in Sam's eyes and he hurried to reassure him. "I got through it. It took me getting out of the chair, but I did it, and you will too."

Sam understood that Bobby had been in a much darker place than the one he was inhabiting, and he had come out on the other side. If Bobby had done it, Sam could, too.

Bobby saw the change in Sam's eyes, and he grinned. "Now you're getting me. I'm not saying it's going to be easy. You're going to need to let us help you. Like you and your brother helped me. That means being honest about how you're feeling. No more trying to hide it."

"I know. I just…"

"Don't like admitting you need help?" Bobby guessed. "No one does."

Sam shook his head. It wasn't just that he didn't like admitting help; it was that he knew he needed more help than his brother and Bobby had to offer. Though he was loathe to admit it, he needed something more than emotional support.

"Bobby, you think you can get the doctor for me?" he asked.

Bobby's brow creased with concern. "You feeling okay?"

"Yeah, there's just something I need to ask her."

Bobby pushed to his feet and patted Sam on the arm. "Sure, I'll go find someone for you."

Sam watched him go, and leaned back against the pillow. He was going to have to swallow his pride and ask for some help for a change.

Bobby left the room and a few minutes later Doctor Saunders came in. "John, your uncle said you wanted to see me. Is everything okay?"

Sam pushed himself up in his bed. He didn't want to have this conversation lying back like an invalid; he already felt weak doing this.

He opened his mouth to speak, and the full story came pouring out—the depression he was feeling, the way it was taking over his life, and most of all the fact he couldn't claw his way out of it alone.

She nodded sympathetically as Sam told her his tale, and when he was finished, she smiled. "I know it's not easy to admit something like this. I'm glad you have come to me. We have different therapies available to you. The hospital has a comprehensive psychiatry department. I will ask for someone there to come talk to you."

"Can't you just give me some pills?" Sam asked.

"Medication is probably the way to go," she said. "But talking therapy is also vastly effective for someone in your position. You have suffered a trauma and now a loss with your amnesia. Talking to someone may help."

Sam shook his head. He couldn't talk to someone without hiding huge chunks of the story for their own protection, and his own. If he started talking about his guilt for almost ending the world, he would be in padded restraints by the end of the day.

"I'll arrange a psych consult and you can discuss your concerns with them."

Sam didn't like the idea of a psych consult, but he had put himself on this path and he would have to follow it through.

"Okay," he said eventually.

She smiled. "You're doing the right thing, John, seeking help. This isn't something you can do alone."

Sam knew she was right, but it didn't make it any easier to accept.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading, especially those that review. I really love reading what you think of the chapter. **

**I posted the first chapter of a new short story yesterday. It's a AU of Southern Comfort. **

**Summary: **The fight in Southern Comfort has consequences no one could have foreseen. LIMP!SAM

**CoM x **


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta'ing this and for all her help and encouragement through the writing process.**

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

Charlotte passed Sam a paper cup of pills. He threw them back and chased them with a glass of water.

"Thanks, Charlotte," he said, offering her a dimpled smile.

"You're very welcome. I'll leave you to it. Peter should be here in a few minutes."

Sam nodded and watched as she left the room. The moment the door closed behind her, Sam's easy smile faded and he scowled at the floor. His latest plan to fake it till he made it was exhausting. He had to fake it though, because the drugs they had given him weren't doing a thing to help his mood.

As promised, Doctor Saunders arranged a psych consult for Sam. The next day a man in horn-rimmed spectacles and a tailored suit arrived and introduced himself as Doctor Hardy. Sam had disliked him on principle, and their relationship hadn't improved over the week they had been seeing each other.

The doctor had insisted in meeting for therapy, and nothing Sam had said had managed to dissuade him from it. Now, every afternoon, he was forced to lie his way through an hour of therapy. He created the perfect patient for the doctor. Someone who was depressed about the situation he found himself in, but otherwise perfectly balanced. It was all a lie. Sam knew he was the furthest thing from balanced mentally, but he could hardly tell the doctor the truth.

The worst part of therapy, as far as Sam was concerned, was the fact Dean knew about it. Sam could hardly hide the fact he was seeing another doctor every day.

Dean saw the therapy as a positive step. He wished he could be the one Sam went to for help, but years of avoiding chick flick moments had voided that chance. Sam knew Dean didn't like to talk about feelings; therefore, he didn't push them upon his brother.

If there was anyone Sam could have spoken to, it was Bobby, but his determination to be strong stopped him from speaking. Instead, he adopted his fake it till you make it plan and worked on fooling everyone around him.

He was partially successful; the doctors and nurses thought he was doing well, and Dean was pleased Sam was eating and smiling again. The only one that saw through his charade was Bobby, and that was because he had been in Sam's position before. Try as he might, he couldn't get the younger hunter to open up to him though. Sam was determined to be strong. Not knowing that in his pretence was in fact a weakness.

Physically, Sam was doing better. His physical therapy sessions were put on hold for a few days following his mishap in the bathroom, but on the fourth day, Peter had come to collect him. Sam had been forced to endure a long lecture on pushing himself too hard and destroying all their hard work. He had endured it in silence, nodding in the appropriate places, and eventually promising to be careful in future. Thankfully, Peter hadn't pressed the topic after that, and Sam had been able to throw himself back into their sessions.

Those sessions were all that kept Sam sane, despite the fact they were dialed down slightly. Peter didn't seem to want to tempt Sam into taking another stroll, and instead of working at the parallel bars, he had Sam using the weights and stationary bike. Sam didn't see the point in the bike—he wasn't trying to relearn the process of cycling—but Peter was insistent. The weights on the other hand, Sam did like. He had been at the peak of his physical fitness before the accident, and he was eager to regain his strength.

Sam's bedside phone rang, and he leaned over to answer it. He knew who it would be even before he answered. Dean had stopped coming by in the mornings before Sam's PT session at Sam's insistence—it was pointless to come for an hour and then hang around all morning while Sam wasn't there—but he made sure to call each morning.

"Morning Sam," he said brightly. "How are you?"

Sam knew he was inquiring about more than his physical health, but he wasn't about to expound on his mental troubles to his brother. "I'm doing good. Just waiting for Peter to come take me down."

"Good, good. Me and Bobby will be by this afternoon after you've seen Doctor Hardy."

This was standard procedure, too. Dean seemed to think that Sam needed reassurance that he would be back each day, that Dean and Bobby weren't going to abandon him.

"I'll see you then," Sam said, failing to hide the weariness in his voice.

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean's voice was thick with concern.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I gotta go. Peter is here." Sam was lying. He had let his façade slip a little, and he didn't want Dean figuring him out.

"Oh, okay." Before Dean could say anything else, Sam ended the call.

He sighed and tilted his head back. Soon, Peter would be there to wheel him down to the therapy room, and the charade would continue. For now, Sam was content to just to enjoy the peace to feel.

* * *

Down the road from the hospital, Dean sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"Everything okay?" Bobby asked.

"Sam's lying to me," Dean said sadly.

"What about?" Bobby was concerned. When Sam hid things, it usually ended badly.

"Nothing. Everything. He wanted off the phone, I know that much. He said Peter was there to take him down to therapy. If he was telling the truth, I'll eat the Impala."

"Maybe he just don't feel like chatting today."

It was more than that. Dean knew it. Sam was struggling this morning, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. He wanted to be with his brother, talking to him, but Sam had a full schedule until late afternoon, and when Dean finally got to him, Sam would be in no mood for talking. He would be tired from his morning and good for nothing other than playing cards and sleeping.

If Dean was being honest with himself, he would know that it was more than time and energy stopping Sam from talking to him. It was the fact Sam didn't think he could open up to his brother. He had spent a lifetime avoiding heart to heart conversations. Now, Dean wanted nothing more than for his brother to tell him how he was really feeling.

Bobby pushed his plate away. He knew Dean wouldn't settle until he had vocalized his fears for Sam, and he needed Bobby to listen. It was the least he could do. He couldn't help one of his boys as he refused to talk. The other wanted to talk, so he would listen. He had hoped after their first conversation, when Sam admitted how he was feeling, that he would be able to get Sam to open up again, but he hadn't. Sam had clammed up again, and refused all offers of help from Bobby.

"I just wish he'd talk," Dean said. "He spends half his life trying to get me to open up, but the one time I want him to, he refuses to talk."

"He's trying to protect you," Bobby said softly. "He doesn't want you suffering along with him."

"Well then he's an idiot. I am worrying even more now that he's not talking." Dean eyed Bobby, looking uncomfortable.

Bobby saw his scrutiny. "What do you want to know?"

"What was it like for you, Bobby, being in that chair?"

Bobby tugged off his cap and twisted it in his hands. "I don't know how to make you understand. I'd say it was Hell, but we both know that's an insult to you. It was one of the worst things I have ever experienced."

Dean knew that was a pretty powerful statement as Bobby had been through a lot. A lot didn't seem to cover it fully. He had been forced to kill his own wife, twice.

"I wanted nothing more than to get out of that chair and on my own two feet, but I was stuck in there, for good."

"But Sammy isn't stuck there for good. He's going to get back on his feet." Dean was reassuring himself as much as he was Bobby.

"I think that makes it worse for him," Bobby said. "He knows he's getting out of there, but he's tied down by his own body. If sheer determination would get him back on his feet, he'd be running a marathon by now. As it is, he has to wait for his body to catch up with his mind."

Dean frowned. If only he hadn't let Sam walk away that day none of this would have happened. He should have been there to take care of his brother..

"None of this is your fault, Dean."

Dean smiled. He should have known Bobby would follow his thoughts. He knew him too well.

"If I'd been there…"

"If you'd been there, squat," Bobby said firmly. "This wasn't some demon or monster; it was a simple accident crossing the street. Unless you think you should have been holding his hand…"

Dean chuckled. "That's one of the things that burns the most. It was something so simple. If he'd just been paying attention, none of this would have happened. And the fact he wasn't paying attention,_ is _my fault. He was distracted by our fight and that damn kid Jacob. If I'd been honest with him from the jump, we wouldn't have fought, and we wouldn't have separated."

"And if the hospital had been taking better care of Sam, he wouldn't have been stuck in the coma for so long, and his muscles wouldn't have deteriorated so much. The blame on this thing goes so many ways it cancels each other out. None of which helps Sam, of course. We need to focus on the future, not the past."

"When did you get so wise?" Dean's tone was teasing.

Bobby grinned. "I've always been wise. It's just for the first time you're actually paying attention."

* * *

"Just a little more John and then we can take a break." Peter encouraged.

"Don't need a break," Sam said through gritted teeth. Sweat was pouring from him, and his muscles were cramping, but he wasn't about to give up, not when he was making progress in this first time for weeks.

Peter had finally relented, and Sam was working at the parallel bars. He wasn't holding them really, just resting his hands on them in case he faltered. He had made five passes up and down, and he was going for one more.

"No, John," Peter said firmly. "You need to rest or you'll end up on your ass again."

Sam made the last few steps and then he allowed himself to rest, panting as he clung to the bar.

"You did good," Peter said encouragingly. "You want to sit?"

Sam nodded and Peter swung the wheelchair around for him to sink into.

"Thanks," Sam said. He was thanking him for more than just the chair. He was thanking him for allowing him to push himself today, and for giving him the first sense of triumph in weeks. "I want to try some more."

"Afraid not. You need to take a proper break, John. You're exhausted, and you know it."

"I'm never going to get anywhere unless you let me try," Sam said irritably.

Peter frowned. "John, I know you're frustrated, but you need to accept your body's limits."

Sam scowled at the floor. "I'm ready to go back to my room now."

Peter sighed. He could see the depression in his patient as clearly as his brother could. He wasn't fooled by the smiles. The physical therapy sessions were the one place Sam let his guard down and allowed someone to see even a little of how bad it was.

"Okay, I think we're done for today anyway," he said. "I'll take you back up."

Sam unlocked the brakes of his wheelchair and sat back as Peter wheeled him back to his room.

* * *

Shortly after Sam had got back to his room, Doctor Hardy arrived. They exchanged greetings and, as he always did, Doctor Hardy asked Sam what he would like to talk about. Sam rallied for a topic that would keep the doctor off his back for a while.

"I'm struggling to accept the fact there are two years of my life that are gone," he said.

The doctor pushed his spectacles up his nose and surveyed Sam carefully. "That's understandable given your situation. You have suffered a loss. It's natural to grieve for it."

Sam frowned. He had initiated this conversation to steer the doctor away from other more honest topics, but he had opened a chain of thought he hadn't considered before. He had suffered a loss. He knew it wasn't only his physical situation that was dragging him down into depression, but he hadn't considered the amnesia as a supporting factor. Now the doctor said it, it made sense. Especially given the place his memory reset to. He had been tormented and tortured then, only finding peace when he made the decision to cast himself into hell. He carried horrific guilt for all the things he had done—he had killed two friends—and he hadn't made peace with that, despite the face one of them was alive now.

He found himself talking without thought. "I hurt people, people I care about. Before the amnesia, I was in a bad place, and people got hurt."

"And you carry guilt because of it?"

Sam looked incredulously at the doctor. Of course he carried guilt. He had almost ended the world. "Yes. I hurt a _lot _of people."

"Do you want to be forgiven?"

"I thought you were a shrink, not a priest."

"You'd be surprised how often the two job titles overlap," the doctor said with a smile. "Now, answer the question. Do you want forgiveness?"

"Doesn't everyone?" Sam turned the question back on the doctor.

"I believe everyone wants forgiveness for their transgressions. It's human nature. Do you believe you are beyond forgiveness?"

Sam looked out of the window and considered the question. He wanted to be forgiven, but he knew he didn't deserve it. There were some things that were beyond forgiveness, and almost ending the world was definitely one of them.

"Yes," he said softly. "I can't ever find forgiveness for what I have done."

The doctor considered his young patient. He sensed this was the first honest conversation he had ever had with him. He didn't know what the man had done that was so beyond forgiveness, but he sensed that it was great. He took off his spectacles and polished them with his tie as he considered his next words.

"If you can't find forgiveness, can you find acceptance?" he asked eventually.

"Acceptance?" Sam asked.

"Yes. You say you did bad things, that you hurt people; perhaps you need to make peace with that part of your life before you move on. Whatever happened can't be changed now, but you can change what happens next. You said you hurt people you care about. Do you think they would want you to continue to berate yourself for what happened, or would they want you to move on with your life?"

Sam considered the question. He knew Dean and Bobby would want him to forgive himself and move on, but they loved him; they didn't want him to suffer anymore. But what about the hundreds of nameless people that had been hurt during the year before he jumped into the cage? Would they want him to find peace, or would they see his suffering as a just punishment for what he had done to them?

"I don't know," Sam said honestly. "There are some that may want me to suffer."

"And are your brother and uncle among that number?"

Sam shook his head. If there was one thing he was certain of, it was that Dean and Bobby wanted him to get better, and that meant overcoming his guilt. "They would want me to get over it."

"Then may I suggest you follow their wants and your own instead of others. They are the ones that matter after all."

Sam chewed his lip. It seemed so easy, and to the doctor it was—he couldn't grasp the magnitude of what Sam had done. No one outside of a small circle of people in the know ever could. But was the doctor right?

Sam knew that it was helping no one to continue to berate himself for his failings. It was only hurting him. But was that a just punishment or a waste of a life. What he was doing now wasn't living,; it was existing. For all he knew, he had been existing for the past two years too, refusing to let go of his guilt. That energy would be better spent atoning for his sins by saving others.

There was the small matter of his physical situation of course, but everyone said it was temporary. If Sam could get back on his feet and go back to hunting with his brother, saving lives, would that be better?

The answer was simple. Of course that was better.

Sam's future path was laid out before him. He had to get back on his feet and back to helping people. It was the only way to move past what he had done. It was going to take a lot of work. But Sam had never been afraid of work.

He looked up at the doctor and smiled. It was a rare genuine smile. "Doc, I think you may be right."

The doctor smiled in return. "I usually am."

* * *

**As always, thanks to everyone that is reading, and especially those that are reviewing. Your reviews make me smile every day. **

**CoM x **


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta'ing this and for all her help and encouragement through the writing process.**

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen**

"That's great, John. You think you can go again?" John asked.

Sam smiled triumphantly. It was a genuine smile, and it felt good. He was working the parallel bars and for the first time he was doing it with his hands resting at his sides. He had made ten passes up and down the distance already, and he was itching to go again. Sweat was pouring down his back and his muscles ached, but it felt so good he didn't care. Turning slowly, he made the pass once again and paused to rest for a moment.

"Feeling good?" Peter asked.

"Damn good," Sam said. "You think I can walk back to my room?"

"Absolutely. You will end up crawling, but I'm sure you don't mind that."

Sam laughed. Peter's jibe didn't bother him in the slightest. Nothing could bother him in that moment. He was finally making progress.

"How about walking around in my room?" he asked.

"As long as you take it easy and use the walker, I don't see that would be a problem."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "A walker? I'm not eighty."

Peter grinned. "No walker, no walking."

Sam sighed. "How about a cane?"

He could handle walking with a cane, but there was no way he was strutting around the hospital with a walker.

"How about we make a couple of passes sans bars with a cane and we see how you do."

Sam felt his mood lighten even further. The idea of walking the room without the bars to pen him in was great. "Sounds good to me."

He sank into the wheelchair positioned at the end of the bars for a moment to rest while Peter went to fetch the cane.

Sam's mood had been improving for the last two weeks. The meds were finally kicking in, and the fact he was being more honest in his sessions with Doctor Hardy were all working to raise his spirits. It felt good to feel like himself again.

Peter came back with the cane and handed it to Sam. "Ready to go?"

"More than ready."

Sam scooted to the edge of the seat and eased himself to his feet. He leaned heavily on the cane, but he was able to keep his feet. Slowly, he put one foot in front of the other and made his way across toward the door. Part of him wanted to swing it open and keep walking until he made his way to the hospital exit, but he resisted the urge. He wasn't quite ready for that, but he would be soon.

When he reached the door, he turned on his heel and made his way back to the chair.

"Okay, that's enough for today," Peter said, noting the sweat beading on Sam's brow.

Sam sank into the wheelchair. "So am I good with the cane?"

"I think so. You'll need to take it easy. You're doing well, but if you push yourself too hard, you'll destroy all the progress you have made."

"I promise."

John chuckled at Sam's innocent look. It was strange to see such an innocent expression on such a behemoth of a man. "Yeah, I bet you do."

"So, when do you think I'll be able to bust out of here?" he asked.

Peter frowned. He didn't want to burst Sam's bubble, but he still had a long road of recovery ahead of him. He was walking, and walking well, but his muscles still needed a lot of work if he was to recover fully. Walking the length of the room was one thing, but getting back out into the world was going to take a lot more work.

Sam saw the frown and knew Peter was about to launch into a long talk about giving himself time to heal and working with his body and not against it. He had heard it before, and he had no desire to hear it again. He shook his head. "Forget I asked."

"John…"

"No, really, forget I asked," Sam said.

Not wanting to drag down his patient's spirits Peter nodded. "Fair enough."

* * *

"I don't know about this, Bobby," Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't think he's ready to be alone.

Dean climbed out of the car and Bobby followed him, chasing the discussion he had started in the car.

"He won't be alone; he'll have a bunch of nurses and doctors looking after him."

"It's not the same thing and you know it."

"I know he would want us to go."

Bobby had gotten word of a hunt in Washington. Someone or something wreaking havoc at a campsite in the North Cascades national park. The hunter that had been on the case had been pulled into the leviathan problem and was unable to finish the hunt, so he had called on Bobby.

Bobby was keen to go on the hunt, but Dean was wary of leaving his brother alone for the time it would take to leave the state and deal with the problem. Every time Sam was alone, something bad happened to him.

"People are dying, Dean," Bobby said softly. "You think Sam would want us to ignore that to stay with him."

"No." Dean knew his brother would be furious if he knew he was passing up hunts to stay with him, but it didn't make it any easier to admit.

He pressed the button to summon an elevator, and when it arrived, they stepped in.

"So you'll come?" Bobby asked.

"I'll think on it awhile. Let me see how Sam's doing today first."

When they got to Sam's room, all thoughts of hunts were driven from Dean's mind, as Sam was nowhere in sight.

Bobby quirked a brow as he looked around the empty room. "Where'd you think he's gone?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't know, but I doubt it's anywhere good."

Bobby felt a little nervous. He was sure that someone would have called them if something bad happened to Sam, but the fact he wasn't in his room was a little worrying.

"Maybe he's gone to Doctor Hardy's office for his session today."

"And maybe he's in the OR again," Dean said bitterly. "It's Sam we're talking about. If something can go wrong, it will go wrong."

"Maybe—"

Bobby's words were cut off as a voice called out from behind them. "Maybe he's in the bathroom." Sam swung open the door and grinned as he saw their incredulous faces. "Can go wrong, will go wrong? Geez Dean, dramatic much?"

Dean mouth gaped open as he saw his brother standing in the doorway of the bathroom. "Sammy, what are you doing?"

Sam grinned. "Taking a walk. And this time, there's no face planting involved. Progress, right?"

Dean shook his head and looked around the room for the wheelchair. It was across the room, folded closed. He made towards it, but Sam spoke up.

"I'm not using that, Dean."

"You damn well are! You think I'm going to let you hurt yourself again. Bobby, grab a hold of him."

Bobby paused. "You okay, Sam?"

Sam chuckled. "I'm fine."

Bobby nodded and hid his smirk behind his hand. "He looks like he's doing okay to me."

Dean snapped the wheelchair open and wheeled it towards his brother. Sam scowled at him. "I'm telling you I'm fine, Dean."

He leaned heavily on his cane and began the slow walk back to his chair. He wasn't getting into that wheelchair again for anything. It didn't matter how many piss fits his brother threw.

He made it back to the chair beside his bed and sank down into it. "See, I told you, I'm fine."

Dean raked a shaking hand over his face and pushed the wheelchair back against the wall. "What was that?" he asked.

"That was me walking," Sam said simply.

"It was great," Bobby said, smiling widely. "How long have you been doing this?"

"Today was the first time I tried away from the parallel bars. Peter said I was good to get about the room on my own as long as I don't push it. Can't tell you how good it feels."

"I remember it well," Bobby said. "I spent the night walking up and down the stairs once I got back on my feet."

Sam chuckled. "I think I'll wait a while before trying that."

Dean was silent. He was staring at his brother, not quite able to believe what he had just seen. He had been hoping to see this kind of progress for weeks, but now that it was happening, he was in shock. He had never truly believed he would see his brother like this again.

"You okay, Dean?" Sam asked.

He nodded shakily. He felt wetness at his eyes, and fought to keep the tears at bay. "I'm good."

Sam knew his brother was lying, but he didn't push. If Dean wanted to talk, he would. Instead, he sat back in his chair and allowed himself a smile. "Cards anyone?" he asked, picking the pack up from the table.

"Deal me in." Bobby picked up a chair and dragged it over to sit opposite Sam. "You joining us Dean?"

Dean nodded and pulled his own chair over to sit by his brother. He watched as Sam dealt out the cards, and he wondered at the change in his brother's expression. At first he couldn't define it, and then he recognized it for what it was. Sam was happy. Dean didn't realize just how bad things had been for his brother until he saw the darkness lifting.

They were through their third round of cards when Bobby spoke up. "So, Sam, there's something we've been meaning to talk to you about."

Dean turned furious eyes on Bobby. "Not now!" he said through gritted teeth.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked, worry creasing his brow.

"Nothing's wrong, Sam." Dean hastened to reassure his brother. "Bobby's just flapping his gums."

Bobby scowled at the insult. "It's a hunt," he said boldly.

"You're going on a hunt?" Rather than sounding upset as Dean expected him to be, Sam sounded pleased. "That's great."

"It is?" Dean was confused.

"Sure it is. You've been kicking your heels here too long. It's about time you got back to it."

Sam had felt guilty for weeks about Dean and Bobby not hunting. People were being hurt and dying because they didn't have someone to protect them. As far as he was concerned, Dean and Bobby going on a hunt was great news.

"We're not going." Not that he would admit it to anyone, but Dean's feelings were hurt by the fact his brother was so willing to see the back of him. He was feeling closer to Sam than ever before following the accident, but apparently his brother didn't feel the same sentiment.

Marveling on the fact he had turned into a teenage girl, he spoke again. "I'm not leaving you here alone."

"I won't be alone; I'll have a bunch of nurses and doctors looking after me."

Bobby chuckled as Sam echoed his previous words, and Dean scowled at him.

"I'm not leaving you alone in hospital, and that's final."

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but Dean quelled him with a look. Sam knew enough to not push his brother when he was wearing that expression. Bobby opened his mouth to argue the case further, but Sam shook his head. He dealt the cards and they started a new game of poker.

All the while, Sam was thinking. If him being in the hospital was stopping his brother hunting, there was an easy solution. He was getting out of there.

* * *

**As always, thanks to everyone that is reading, and especially those that are reviewing. Your reviews make me smile every day. **

**I posted the first chapter of a new short story. It's called Temper and is set post Citizen Fang.**

**Summary: **Dean's text message sent Sam racing back to Amelia. What happens when he gets there, no one could have seen coming. LIMP!SAM

**CoM x **


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta'ing this and for all her help and encouragement through the writing process.**

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen**

"John, you can't leave," Doctor Saunders said. "You're not ready."

Sam paused in his packing and looked up at the doctor. "I've had the all clear from neuro and general for a week. It's only my physical therapy to be signed off on, and I can continue that from home."

"But these headaches…"

"You did the scan, and it came back clear."

"What about your sessions with Doctor Hardy?"

"I can come back in for them, too. Look, Doc, I appreciate all you've done for me, but I'm ready to get out of here. So, if you could just get the forms, I can sign them and get out of your hair."

The doctor sighed and pushed her hair back from her eyes. "Fine, but you are signing out against medical advice, and I won't be liable for anything that happens to you when you leave the hospital."

Sam could have pointed out that there was already plenty she _was_ liable for but he resisted.

"Just get me the forms," he said. He had already changed into regular clothes, and he was stuffing the last of his sleep clothes into his duffel. He didn't quite know how he was going to manage his bag while walking, but hopefully he could charm a nurse into helping him.

The doctor left the room and came back a minute later with a clipboard. "I implore you to change your mind, John. This really isn't a good idea. You need further care."

Sam took the forms and scrawled a signature at the bottom of the page. "Thanks, Doc."

"At least use a wheelchair till you get to the exit," she said.

Sam smiled slightly. That solved his problem of his bag and cane. He could get a cab from the hospital exit to the motel, and from there, he would be good.

"Sure." He eased himself into his wheelchair, and placed his bag on his knees. "I'm ready to go."

The doctor smiled sadly. She didn't want Sam to go. Not only because she was worried about his health, but also because she had grown fond of him, and she knew he wasn't ready to function outside of the hospital.

Charlotte came into the room and wheeled him out of the door. Sam felt a rush of relief as he made it to the elevators and then down into the lobby. He was really getting out.

When they got to the exit, Charlotte parked him at the doors. A cab pulled up in front of them. Sam held out his bag to the driver and eased himself to his feet.

"I'll miss you, John," Charlotte said.

"I'll be back for PT and my sessions with Doctor Hardy."

She eyed him shrewdly. "Sure you will."

Sam looked down at his feet. He wondered if he had fooled Doctor Saunders, too. Would Peter and Doctor Hardy be expecting to see him tomorrow?

Unexpectedly, Charlotte embraced Sam gently. He wavered on his feet for a moment, and she steadied him. She eased her arms from around him and stepped back. "You take care of yourself, John."

"I will."

Sam opened the cab door and eased himself into the backseat. He waved to Charlotte as the cab pulled away from the curb and out onto the road.

Unknown to both Charlotte and Sam, they were being watched.

Jane Haralson had just finished her shift and was leaving through the ambulance bay when she caught sight of Sam. She watched as he exchanged goodbyes with Charlotte and got into the cab. She smiled as he drove away.

It had been weeks since John Smith had been brought into the ER, and against the odds, he had survived.

* * *

Bobby plunked a beer down on the table in front of Dean and sat down on the bed. Dean scowled at the beer and then popped it open. As pissed as he was, he couldn't deny himself the drink. After the day he'd had, he needed it.

"You still not talking to me?" Bobby asked.

Dean took a sip of his beer. "I'm not not talking to you. I just don't have anything to say."

"You have nothing to say? Really, you?"

"What do you want me to say, Bobby? That you shouldn't have told Sam about the hunt? You shouldn't, but you already know that."

"I know no such thing. He had a right to know that you are passing up hunts because of him."

"And what's he supposed to do with that information. Lie in his sick bed and feel guilty about it?"

Bobby tugged off his hat and dropped it onto the bed. "He wouldn't feel guilty if you would stop being so stubborn. You know we have to do it, so why not get it over with and say yes?"

Dean scowled at the floor. He did know they should take the hunt, but he didn't want to leave his brother alone. Of the two jobs he had—hunter and brother—being a brother came first. That meant passing up the hunt when his brother was stuck in a hospital bed. Sam was clawing his way out of the pit of depression, and without Dean there, he could sink back into it.

"I'm not leaving my brother here alone," he said stubbornly.

Bobby huffed. "Fine, you stay here with Sam and I'll take the hunt alone."

"No, Bobby. It's not—"

"Are you telling me I can't hunt alone, boy? You think I'm too old? Because I have been doing this since before you were born, and I know how to take care of myself."

"That's not what I was going to say," Dean lied. "I was just going to say…"

Whatever else he was going to say was cut off as someone knocked on the motel room door.

"That'll be the pizza," Bobby said.

Dean pushed himself to his feet and swung open the door. What he saw there made his mouth drop open.

"Sammy?"

Sam stood bracing himself against the doorframe. His duffel bag was at his feet. "Hey, Dean."

"What are you…? How did you…? When did you…?"

Sam grinned. "Good questions. Can I sit down before I answer them?"

"Yeah, of course." Dean put an arm around Sam's waist and attempted to support him as he made his way into the room.

Sam batted his hands away. "I can do it, Dean."

He made his way slowly to one of the chairs at the table and sank down gratefully. He hid it well, but the journey to the motel and the walk from the cab had worn him out. He turned to look at Bobby and grinned. Bobby beamed back at him.

When he was sure his brother wasn't about to keel over, Dean sat opposite him and turned his stony glare on Sam. "Talk!" he commanded.

Sam rolled his eyes. "What do you want to talk about?"

"What are you doing here?"

"I checked out." Sam's tone implied that it was obvious.

"How did you know where we were?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. "Bobby told me."

Dean turned his furious gaze on the older hunter. "What were you thinking?"

Bobby held his hands up. "I was thinking it was a perfectly innocent thing for Sam to want to know which motel we were staying in."

"Did you know he was going to do this?"

"I had no idea," Bobby lied. Though Sam hadn't shared his plans with him, Bobby knew it was only a matter of time before Sam checked himself out of the hospital. The place was dragging him down.

"Bobby only told me the name of the place," Sam said. "I did the rest on my own."

"And what exactly did you do?" Dean's hands were fisted at his sides. It wasn't that he wasn't pleased to see his brother; he just couldn't believe Sam would be stupid enough to check himself out of the hospital. He wasn't ready.

Sam leaned back in the chair and stretched his tired legs out in front of him. "I told the doctor I was ready to leave. I signed a couple of forms and then got myself a cab here. I spoke to the manager—he's a nice guy, by the way, very helpful—and got your room number, and you know the rest. Now I'm here."

"You walked from the office to here?" Dean asked, calculating the distance in his head. It was too far for Sam to walk alone. "Juggling your bag and cane? You could have hurt yourself."

"Of course I didn't." Sam looked innocent. "The cabbie held my bag for me."

"Dammit, Sam!" Dean huffed. "What were you thinking leaving the hospital?"

Sam's jaw jutted out. "I was thinking that I am a grown man and that I am perfectly capable of deciding how and when I get out of the hospital."

"You were wrong," Dean said flatly. "You don't get to decide these things, the doctors do. Are you telling me Doc Saunders gave you the all clear to leave?"

Sam suddenly became absorbed in the floral pattern of the carpet.

"You checked out AMA!" Dean threw his hands up. "Of course you did. Why wouldn't you? You're being a numbskull after all."

"Dean that's enough," Bobby said sternly. He could see the effect Dean's words were having on Sam. The triumphant smile he had been wearing when he arrived had faded into lines of sadness.

"You're right," Dean said, noting Sam's renewed sadness for the first time. He felt guilty that he had been the one to put it there. Not so guilty that he wouldn't force his brother back to the hospital though. "Bobby, get the car around. We're taking him back."

"I will not," Bobby said firmly.

"Fine, I'll do it myself." Dean stood and picked up the keys from the counter.

"I'm not going back, Dean." Sam spoke quietly, but his tone was firm. "You want me in that place again, you're going to have to drag me there kicking and screaming."

"I'm okay with that," Dean said.

"I'm not," Bobby said. "Sam's in the best possible place right now. We're not dragging him back there."

Bobby understood that Sam needed to be out in the world again. The hospital was the wrong place for him now. He had been cured of most of his physical ailments, it was the mental ones he was dealing with now, and the hospital was no place for that.

"He almost died, Bobby!" Dean shouted.

"I know," Sam said softly. "And I know how frightening that must have been for you, but I'm better now, Dean."

"You know, huh?" Dean snorted. "You know what it felt like to sit there day after day watching you sleep, not knowing if you would ever wake again?"

"No, I don't," Sam said. "But I know how it felt to watch you _die_ over and over again. When the Trickster worked his whammy on us back in Florida. Then, as if that wasn't bad enough, I had to watch Hell Hounds tear you apart. I had to bury you, Dean. So yeah, I know how you feel, because I've lived it."

Dean fell silent. Outside of telling him roughly what had happened then—that he had died every day—Sam hadn't told Dean much of what had happened in Florida. He had never told him how it had felt. Now he considered it, he saw that it must have been hell for his brother. Sam knew exactly how Dean had felt when he arrived in the hospital the first day and every day after, because he had lived worse before.

He raked a hand across his face. "Okay. You know how I felt, so why are you making me go through this again?"

"I'm not," Sam said plaintively. "I am trying to make you see. I'm okay now. I've had the all clear from the doctors that matter. The only hang up is PT and Doctor Hardy. I can do PT with you guys and I don't care about Doctor Hardy. Nothing is going to happen to me. I promise."

With childlike determination, Dean clung to that promise. "Fine," he huffed.

Bobby pushed himself to his feet. "I better go get us another room. As fond as I am of you boys, I'm not sharing my bed."

Bobby left the room and Sam and Dean were left alone. Dean surveyed his brother and saw the lines of sadness had been replaced by smug happiness.

"I don't like this, Sam," he said.

"I know you don't, but I had to get out of that place, Dean. It was bringing me down. Besides, I'm sick of being called John."

Dean nodded. His brother did seem happier since getting out. Dean hated the hospital as much as Sam did—he hated seeing his brother in that bed day after day—but it was the safest place for him for when something went wrong, as it always did; it was Sam after all.

Dean rubbed at the back of his neck. "You could at least have waited for us to help you."

Sam chuckled. "You'd never have let me leave."

"True." He blew out a deep breath. "I'm glad you're here, Sammy. I may not always show it, but I really am."

He was thinking of all the times they had been apart and all the times he had let Sam get hurt. No matter what happened next, they weren't separating again.

There was a knock at the door. Dean answered it and paid for the pizza they had ordered. Plunking it down on the table, he cast apologetic eyes on Sam.

"If we'd known you were coming, we'd have ordered some rabbit food for you."

Sam shook his head. "You have no idea how good pizza sounds right now."

Dean grinned and flipped open the lid. "Then dig in."

Bobby came back when they were halfway through the pizza, and he grabbed himself a slice. "I've got us the room next door. Now I won't have to deal with Dean's snoring keeping my up half the night."

"I don't snore!" Dean said defensively.

Sam laughed. "Sorry, bro, but you really do."

Dean affected a hurt expression, which made Sam laugh even harder. It took control of him and swept him away from his immediate troubles—like the fact he still couldn't walk a block without falling on his ass—making him feel free for the first time in weeks. Dean and Bobby both smiled. They didn't hear the edge of hysteria in Sam's laughter; they were just happy to see him laughing.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up chuckles," Dean said with feigned irritation. "I'm not the only one that snores."

"Yeah, but I don't deny it," Sam said through his gasping breaths.

Sam choked himself slowly to calm again. His chest ached, and he was suddenly exhausted, but he felt damn good. He yawned widely and massaged his chest.

"You okay?" Dean asked solicitously.

"I'm fine," he said, waving away Dean's concerns. "Just a little worn out."

"Yeah, breaking out of hospital weeks early will do that to ya." Dean got to his feet and moved to stand beside his brother. "Time for bed, Sammy."

Sam scowled at him. "Dude, it's eight o'clock."

"You can quit with the bitch face. You need sleep, and you know it."

"In that case, I am going to take the rest of this pizza and head to my new, quieter room," Bobby said.

Dean and Sam waved at him as he made his way out of the door.

Sam got slowly to his feet and made his way to the second bed. Dean put his duffel down beside him, and surveyed his brother. "You need help?"

"No thanks, I've been able to do it alone since I was about four."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Let's get one thing straight now. If you are going to be sticking around here instead of in the hospital where you belong, you are going to let me help you. No pushing yourself too far too soon."

"Fine, but I don't need help dressing myself. That I can do alone."

Dean raised his hands. "Okay, but when you do need help, you ask."

Sam grinned up at him. "Absolutely. I need it, I'll ask for it."

"Promise?"

"What are you, five?"

Dean scowled at him. "Sam."

"Yeah, I promise."

Satisfied by his brother's acquiescence, Dean turned his back to give his brother privacy to change and grinned. His brother was slowly getting back to normal.

* * *

**So, Sam busted out of the hospital and he's back with Dean and Bobby… finally. I have been looking forward to posting this chapter for quite some time, but I wanted to do Sam's recovery justice. **

**Thanks to everyone that reviewed the last chapter. I think I replied to you all individually, but if I missed you, I apologize. I love reading your thoughts, and it makes all the hard work worthwhile to know you are enjoying the story. **

**In other news, Snarkymuch2 has a new story, and I have jumped on the band wagon and will be writing it with her. It's a Sam/Lucifer pairing — unusual I know — but I think if you gacve it a try you would enjoy it. The story can be found under her profile, a link to which is under my favorite authors. Please give it a look and let us know what you think. The first chapter is all her own work, so all credit goes to her, but the second has my input and we're curious to see if our two writing styles mesh.**

**CoM x **


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta'ing this and for all her help and encouragement through the writing process.**

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen**

Dean woke early the next morning, just as dawn was streaking light through the grimy window. He rolled over and buried his face in the pillow. It was too early to be awake. He could have at least another hour of sleep before he needed to call Sam at the hospital. He looked forward to the morning calls as they gave him a way to gauge Sam's mood.

He looked across at the bed beside him, and he jerked to a sitting position as the events of the previous night caught up with him.

Sam was stretched out across the bed, his feet overhanging the end of the mattress. His face was relaxed in sleep, but it wasn't the same lax expression that had haunted Dean for so long in the hospital. Occasionally, his lips twitched as if he was trying not to smile. He was dreaming. Dean hoped they were good dreams. He knew that Sam had suffered nightmares of hell after Castiel tore down the wall and released the memories. Then, with a wave of relief, he realized that those memories were gone now, swept away with the last two years of Sam's life.

Dean had mixed feelings about the amnesia. It was good that Sam had lost the memories of hell and eighteen months that he had run around soulless, but he also lost all memories of Dean from that time. They had been through a lot together, and Sam remembered none of it.

Sam shifted in his sleep and rolled over to the side. Dean considered him, and wondered what would happen when Sam woke. Sam had been in the hospital for weeks, and he should still be there now. How much help was he going to need? How much help would he accept? That was the big question, as Sam was independent to a fault. He had been even as a kid. He would hate to admit that he needed help. Whatever he needed, Dean would do, even if Sam argued. He had two simple choices: he could accept Dean's help or he could be packed off to the hospital again. To hell with what Bobby said. Dean was going to take care of his brother, and if that meant dragging him back to the hospital, so be it.

Sam stretched and winced. His muscles were sore this morning. He had done too much yesterday. It was worth the aches this morning to be waking up somewhere other than a hospital bed though. He drew in a deep breath and his eyes cracked open. "Morning," he mumbled.

"Morning. You okay?"

"Yep. Just waking up is all." He flexed his legs tentatively under the blankets, testing their strength. The felt weak and tender, but they were at least moving.

"I call bullshit!" Dean stated. He could see the thinly concealed pain in his brother's eyes and knew, as he had known all along, that Sam had pushed himself too far too soon.

Sam pushed himself to a sitting position with effort and looked over at his brother. "I'm fine, Dean. Just a little sore. It always takes me a minute to get going in the mornings."

That was a painful admission for Dean to hear. He couldn't help but flash his memories back a couple of months to waking up to find his brother darting about the room, ready to start a new day. He had even started jogging every morning. Now, it was an effort for him to sit up.

Sam swung his legs round and rested them against the thinly carpeted floor.

"Sam, don't…" Dean jumped to his feet and prepared to grab Sam in case he fell.

Sam ignored his brother and pushed himself to his feet. He wavered, and Dean steadied him with an arm around the waist.

"Sit back down before you fall down," Dean commanded and then gritted his teeth as Sam ignored him again and set off towards the bathroom on unsteady legs. He looked a little like Bambi in the kitschy movie. Dean hurried after him with his arms upraised.

"I'm telling you I'm fine," Sam said, bracing himself on the bathroom doorframe. "Now, unless you want to hold it for me, you're going to have to step back."

Dean jumped back as if burned. "No, you're all good. You are good, right? You don't need my help in there."

"Dean!" Sam groaned. He stepped into the bathroom and slammed the door shut in his brother's face.

Dean huffed and went back to sit on his bed. His anxiety ratcheted up a level as he heard the shower start.

"Sam?" he called.

"Dammit, Dean, I'm fine!"

Someone tapped on the motel room door, and Dean jumped to his feet to answer. He was glad of something to do other than fretting about his brother falling on his ass in the shower.

Bobby stood on the threshold. His smile faded as he saw Dean's anxious expression. "What's wrong?"

"Sam's in the shower." Dean thought that was explanation enough, but Bobby nodded for him to continue. "What if he falls?"

"Then he picks himself up again," Bobby said calmly. "Unless you are planning on busting in there and holding the soap for him, you may as well sit down and relax. Your brother is not an idiot. If he didn't think he was up to it, he wouldn't be doing it. Now, un-pucker."

Dean sank down onto a chair and rested his elbows on the table. He rubbed at his temples. He was getting a headache. He knew it wasn't a hangover, he had barely had one beer the night before; it was all the tension working a number on him.

In the bathroom, Sam shut the shower off and eased himself out of the cubicle. He was glad the motel provided a separate shower, as he wasn't sure he could have lifted his leg high enough to step into the bathtub. He wrapped a towel around his waist and sank down onto the closed toilet seat to allow himself a short rest.

"You okay in there?" Dean called through the closed door.

Sam spoke through gritted teeth. "I'm fine. Just give me a minute."

Bobby looked at Dean with raised eyebrows. "You going to dry his hair for him, too?"

"Don't give me crap about this, Bobby," Dean said firmly. "I'm allowed to be worried."

Bobby sat back in his chair and scrubbed a hand over his beard. "You are, but you're not allowed to treat him like a child. If he needs help, he'll ask for it."

Dean scowled. Bobby didn't understand how it was with Sam. He would have to be flat on his ass, unable to get up, before he asked for help. Dean would like to avert that if he could.

"Can you grab me some clothes out of my duffel?" Sam asked.

Dean leapt to his feet, glad of something to do. He took some jeans, an undershirt and a shirt out of the bag and carried them to the bathroom. He was surprised but pleased to find that Sam hadn't locked the door when he tested it. If something had happened, he would have kicked it down, but it was a relief to know Sam was smart enough to bypass that step.

He saw his brother sitting on the closed toilet seat, and he bit back the question of whether or not he was okay. He knew neither Sam nor Bobby would appreciate it if he asked. He handed over the clothes and pulled the door closed behind him.

Bobby nodded approvingly as he sat down again, and Dean felt a little like a child being praised for tying his shoelaces alone. Shaking off the thought, he ventured his next question in a whisper.

"Any news from Frank?"

Bobby shook his head. "Not for a couple of days now. The last I heard was that they are closing in on the leader, but that's all he said. You know how cryptic he can be."

Dean nodded. He had only met Frank Devereaux once, and what he had learned from that short meeting was that Frank was a raving lunatic.

The bathroom door opened and Sam stepped out, toweling his wet hair. "Hey, Bobby." He smiled widely when he saw the older man sitting at the table.

"Morning, boy. How are you feeling today?"

"I won't be running the hundred meter dash anytime soon, but I'm doing good."

Bobby nodded. "I'd say you are."

Dean saw the easy way easy way Bobby and Sam interacted. There was no sign of tension on Bobby, though Dean knew he was as anxious about Sam as he was. Trying to imitate the same relaxed stance, he clapped his hands together. "So, what are we doing for breakfast?"

"That's what I came to ask," Bobby said. "Do you want me to bring something in or shall we grace a diner with our presence?"

Dean looked to Sam for guidance, and Sam grinned. "I'd like to go out somewhere."

"Okay," Dean said. "We have time."

"Time for what? What else are we doing today?" Bobby asked, hoping Dean was going to take the hunt in Washington.

"Sam here needs to get back to the hospital."

Bobby frowned and Sam scowled at him. "I told you, I'm not going back there."

Dean raised his hands in front of him defensively. "I'm not saying I want you to check in again, but you need to go to PT and you have an appointment with Doctor Hardy.

Contrary to what both Bobby and Dean expected—namely a bitch fit—Sam grinned.

"Hate to break it to you, but I can't go back," he said. "You may not have noticed but there is the small matter of my medical costs to consider. We got lucky, no one asked me to visit billing before I left, but we can't hope for that luck to last. I can't go back. We need John Smith to remain an unfiled claim in their records." He looked supremely satisfied as he finished.

"Damn right they didn't dare ask," Dean said. "They screwed you over from the start."

Sam nodded. "Agreed, but there's nothing we can do about it. As we've already discussed, John Smith doesn't exist."

Bobby smiled. "He makes a good point, Dean. We can't expect him to go back in there."

Dean raked a hand across his face. "What about your PT?"

"I can do it alone. It's only strengthening muscles now, and that's simple enough to do."

"And Doctor Hardy?"

Sam looked at the carpet. He was uncomfortable discussing this with his brother. "I don't need to see him anymore. I'm already feeling miles better."

Dean was no more comfortable discussing this topic than Sam was. "And the meds they gave you?"

"Don't worry about it," Sam said awkwardly. "I can do without them."

"I don't know, Sam." Surprisingly it was Bobby that spoke up. "I don't think you can just stop and start these things without side effects."

"Then I'll deal with the side effects," Sam said stoically. "The way I see it, we don't have any other option; I can't go back to the hospital. I'll have to do without."

Dean tried to find a solution, but came up empty. He didn't want his brother to sink into the same depression that he had suffered when in the hospital, but he couldn't send his brother back into the hospital without getting smacked with a huge bill they had no way of paying.

He nodded. "Fine, we'll do without, but if you need something, we'll find you a doctor."

Sam knew he would never agree to go to see another shrink, but if it made his brother feel better to believe it, he would let him.

"Absolutely. If I start circling the cuckoo's nest again, I will let you know."

Though Sam was oblivious to it, Dean and Bobby heard something more in his statement than he knew. They were thinking of the hallucinations of Lucifer. They were both thanking their lucky stars that it was over.

To break the awkward moment, Bobby spoke up. "Breakfast?"

Sam braced his hands on his knees and eased himself to his feet. "Let's get gone."

When they got outside of the motel, Sam looked around. He hadn't paid the parking lot much attention the night before—he had been focused on making it to the motel room—but now he looked around he noticed something missing.

"Dean, where's the impala?"

Dean rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. "Sam, there's some stuff we need to tell you."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later then were settled in a booth at the local diner, with plates of breakfast in front of them.

"So, you're telling me Bobby's place burned to the ground, the Impala is on lockdown, and we're wanted criminals again."

"Yep. Well, apart from the wanted criminals part. We're officially dead, again. The sheriff smoothed things over for us."

Dean had given Sam a cliff notes version of what was happening, leaving out any mention of leviathans and their doppelgangers' crime spree. He didn't want to say anything that might jog Sam's memories. As good as it would be to have his brother remembering, it was not worth the cost of the literal hell that would be unleashed upon him.

Sam stayed silent for a moment. He expected some reaction from his missing memories as he listened to Dean's explanation, but there was nothing. It was as If Dean was reading a story from a book. None of it resonated with Sam.

Dean was disturbed by his silence. "You okay, Sam?"

"Just thinking."

"About?" Dean was worried that Sam was actively trying to remember.

"It's the weirdest thing," Sam said thoughtfully. "I don't remember a thing. It's as if you're telling me about someone else's life. Even if I don't remember, the words should feel different, right?"

Dean shrugged. "Let's just be grateful you don't remember."

"Is it really that bad?"

"Yes!" Bobby and Dean answered together.

Sam looked at them curiously and raised an eyebrow. The determination in their faces told him that they were serious. He really shouldn't remember. It felt strange though. He felt like a part of him was missing, the part of him that had lived the last two years.

Trusting in his brother, he decided to let the matter drop. Rallying for a change of topic, he stumbled upon the memory of their discussion the previous day: the hunt. It was the real reason he had busted out of the hospital after all.

He turned to Bobby. "You said you had a hunt, want to tell me about it?"

"No!" Dean interjected. "We're not hunting."

"Why not?" Sam's brow furrowed with confusion.

"Because you're not ready," Dean said flatly.

Sam chuckled. "I'm not planning on taking point. Hell, I can stay at the motel if you like. I just think it's important that we get back to normal, and normal for us is hunting."

Dean poked at his eggs with little enthusiasm. He knew his brother was right. They needed to get back to normal. Just because they weren't working the leviathan problem, it didn't mean there weren't other people that they needed to protect. He didn't like the idea of leaving his brother behind in a motel room while he and Bobby went hunting though. Sam needed someone to keep an eye on him.

His heart was heavy as he considered his options. He could betray the people that needed his protection, leaving them to the mercy of this new threat, or he could let his brother down and leave him alone. He looked into Sam's earnest face and knew what he had to do. The choice was never really his; it was Sam's.

"Fine, we can hunt, but you have to stay in the motel." That would appease his need to have Sam close but safe.

Sam grinned. "Awesome. Tell me all about it."

Bobby took his journal out of his bag and pulled out the sheaf of notes regarding the haunting in Washington. "Okay, here's what we know…"

* * *

**Thanks as always to everyone that is reading and special thanks to those of you that review. I love hearing from you all. **

**Other news: The third chapter of Stairway To Heaven has been posted. It's Dean's POV this time, and Snarks and I had a good time working out what he would be doing while Sam was being held hostage by Lucifer. If you haven't already, please give it a look. The link to Snarkymuch2's page can be found under my favorite authors. **

**CoM x **


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta'ing this and for all her help and encouragement through the writing process.**

**Sorry for the delay getting this chapter out to you. Snarkymuch2 and I have been crazy busy working on our Samifer story, and we didn't have a chance to edit this chapter. **

* * *

**Chapter Twenty**

Sam stirred sleepily from his spot in the back seat. He had foregone his usual shotgun position to Bobby. It wasn't entirely altruistic of him. He knew Dean would have a harder time staring at him if he was in the back. He understood Dean's concern for him, and he appreciated that he cared, but after awhile, he grew irritated by the sidelong glances. If something was wrong, he would tell them. Dean should relax and trust him.

"Wakey wakey, Sammy," Dean said in a singsong tone. "Time to rise and shine."

"I'm rising," he mumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Where are we?"

"Spokane. We're going to stop here for food."

Sam squinted out the car window. If they had got as far as Spokane, it meant that he had been sleeping for almost six hours. His eyes felt gritty and his mouth was dry. He'd woken with a niggling headache.

"Why'd you let me sleep so long?"

Dean shrugged. "Figured you needed it."

Sam grabbed his cane and turned himself to get out of the car. It was a struggle. It took a lot of muscles to stand and even more to maneuver yourself out of a car at the same time. He took Dean's proffered hand and allowed him to take some of the weight as he stood.

"You okay?" Dean asked solicitously, and Bobby watched with a creased brow.

"I'm a little stiff," Sam admitted. "And sore."

"You want something?" Dean headed to the trunk where they kept their travelling pharmacy for injuries and accidents.

"Just Tylenol," Sam said. He would have liked something stronger—he'd had a wealth of drugs in the hospital—but he didn't want to spend the rest of the day stoned. He had already slept enough already. Dean would worry.

Dean handed him two white pills, and Sam dry swallowed them and then grimaced. "Disgusting."

Dean grinned. "That's why normal people use water to get them babies down."

Sam leaned heavily on his cane as they made their way into the diner. Dean watched him with a wary eye, prepared to support him if he listed, but Sam made it into the diner and two a table before he flopped down into a seat. Bobby and Dean watched him as he rested his elbows on the table.

He was marveling at his exhaustion. He had done nothing more strenuous that sitting in a car all morning, but he was dog-tired. Sitting around in a hospital for weeks had sapped all his stamina. It wasn't the worst price to pay, he knew how much worse things could have gone for him, but it was still frustrating.

The waitress bustled over to their table and left menus for them. Dean flirted shamelessly with her, and Sam smiled. It was good to feel like things were back to normal, though he didn't miss the way Bobby's eyes lingered on him.

"What we eating?" Dean asked.

Sam chuckled. "You ask that like you aren't already decided on a burger and fries."

Dean rolled his eyes. "I know what I'm having. I was asking about you two. Just trying to make conversation."

Bobby laughed. "Since when do you 'make conversation'?"

Dean looked shifty, and Sam understood. Dean was trying to pretend this was a normal day, as if he hadn't just busted out of the hospital, as if he wasn't still getting back on his feet in the literal sense. Dean was doing his best to make things easy for them. Sam was touched by his brother's attempts.

The waitress came back, and they placed their orders. Dean went for the inevitable burger, and Sam and Bobby went with a salad apiece. Sam hoped it was better than the wilted slop the hospital served up under the guise of healthy food.

Dean leaned across the table. "So, I figure we find a motel here for the night and move on in the morning."

Bobby frowned. "Why not go the rest of the way tonight? We're halfway there already. I can take a turn at the wheel."

"I was just thinking we could all do with a little break from the car."

"You were thinking _I_ could do with a break," Sam stated, sighing. His headache was growing in intensity, making his next words a little sharper than he intended. "What happened to trusting me?"

"Listen, Sam…"

"No, Dean. I am good to make the rest of the journey today. I can sleep in the car. If I need a break, I will tell you."

"So the fact I can tell you're in pain means nothing?"

Sam took a deep calming breath. He knew his irritation was more to do with his pain that Dean's continued mother hen routine. "I have a headache. That's all." Dean opened his mouth to speak but Sam overrode him. "I'm fine, Dean. It's not the first time. I've been having them for awhile, and Doc Saunders knew about it."

"And you didn't tell me because…"

"Because I know you'd worry, and there's no need. I had a scan and it came back clear."

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. His immediate thought when he heard about the headaches was a further complication from the brain injury. The fact the scans were clear was a relief, but it didn't relax him completely. He was still concerned that his brother was suffering.

Sam rested his head in his hands and massaged his temples. Bobby and Dean watched with concern. Sam could feel their eyes on him, and so he raised his head and forced a smile.

Their food arrived and thankfully distracted their attention from Sam. Sam ate with gusto, enjoying his food properly for what felt like the first time in forever. The scent of the hospital had seemed to infect everything, even the food.

Sam was halfway through his meal when he felt the warm rush pass through him. His head snapped up and he glared at Dean.

"What did you give me?"

Dean looked a little guilty. "Something for your pain."

Sam recognized the pulse of opiates working though his system. "Why would you…?"

"'Cause you were hurting."

Dean intentions had been good when he dosed his brother, but now he saw his brother's furious expression he wondered if he had done the right thing. Sam looked epically pissed at him.

Sam pushed away his plate and rested his head in his hands. Whatever Dean had given him, was working fast and well. He felt thoroughly stoned, and he had no idea how he was going to walk back to the car. It was hard enough to do when he wasn't doped to the gills.

Bobby scowled at Dean. "Real good thinking, Dean!"

"He was hurting," Dean said unapologetically.

"And now he's stoned."

Dean shrugged. "We'll work something out."

Sam turned in his seat and got unsteadily to his feet.

"Where are you going?" Dean asked.

"To the car," Sam said obviously. "Thanks to you, it's now ten times more complicated. As if being a gimp wasn't bad enough, now I'm a stoned gimp. Thanks, Dean, really; I appreciate it."

Dean looked downcast. He had only been trying to help. He hadn't really thought about the way the drugs would affect Sam. He had forgotten his brother was a lightweight where opiates were concerned.

Bobby got to his feet and walked to Sam's side. "You need help?"

Sam shook his head. He wasn't going to be carried out of this place like an invalid, despite the fact the room was shifting alarmingly in front of his eyes.

He slowly made his way out of the door, and Bobby turned furious eyes on Dean. "Good thinking, Dean, really."

Sam made it out to the car and flopped onto the back seat. He was pissed at his brother, but the drugs took the edge off his temper. It seemed like too much effort to stay angry. He curled up against the window and allowed himself to be swept away on the peaceful tide of the drugs.

By the time Dean had paid their tab and was back at the car, Sam was fast asleep on the back seat and Bobby was scowling through the window. Dean opened his mouth to speak, to defend himself, but Bobby shook his head curtly.

Sighing, Dean got into the car and started the engine, cursing the silence.

* * *

Sam had come out of his drug daze by the time they reached Bellingham, and he was pissed and tired, which seemed ridiculous to him, as he had slept the whole six-hour journey. He needed to lean Dean on heavily to get out of the car.

Bobby went ahead and booked their motel rooms, and Sam leaned against the side of the car with Dean.

"Sammy, I'm sorry…" Dean started.

Sam shrugged. "It's okay."

"No, it's not. I shouldn't have given you the wrong pills."

"You're right, you shouldn't," Sam said dourly. "I get why you did it, though."

"I just didn't want to see you hurting."

Sam chewed on his bottom lip as he considered his next words. "It was my choice. I had a headache, and I chose not to dose myself. It wasn't your decision to make. I know that you are struggling, but you need to let me make my own choices. I am not a child anymore, Dean."

Dean frowned. "You think I was treating you like a child?"

"I think you were trying to take care of me, and I appreciate it, but I'm capable of taking care of myself, too. I'm damaged, I get that, but I'm still me."

"You're not damaged," Dean said immediately, instinctively wanting to defend his brother.

"I am. I'm brain damaged. Two years of my slate has been wiped clean. It sucks, for me at least."

"Sam…"

"No, I get it. Some bad stuff went down and I'm not supposed to remember. I trust you on that. And I get that something in these past two years has changed you. I have a feeling that it was something I did that changed that. I'm sorry for whatever it was."

"You didn't do anything, Sam," Dean said gently. He couldn't explain that his new over-protectiveness was a result of the fact his brother had been hallucinating Lucifer. It had made Sam vulnerable, and Dean had been forced to step up to take care of him more than ever before. Couple that with Sam's near death at the hands of a minivan, and Dean was in full on big brother mode.

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but Bobby came out of the motel office and cut off what he was about to say. He saw Dean's expression and knew he had interrupted something important.

"So," Bobby said awkwardly. "We're in rooms twenty three and twenty four. You boys ready to go?"

Sam nodded and pushed away from the car. He wavered and Dean braced his arm. "You okay?" he asked.

"I need some help," Sam admitted. He knew he wasn't going to make it to the motel room alone.

Dean was surprised but relieved that Sam was admitting that he needed help. "What do you need me to do?" he asked. Bobby watched them, ready to help if needed.

"I need to lean on you," Sam said, holding out his cane for Bobby to hold. Bobby took it and watched as Dean braced Sam with an arm around his waist.

Leaning heavily on his brother, Sam shuffled across the parking lot and into their room. He made it to the door and dropped down onto the bed. His legs were sore and tired, and he didn't think they would have supported him another minute. He hid his face behind his arm and cursed his weakness. Though he knew he would feel better after a night's rest, he wasn't able to take comfort in that at the time. He was bemoaning the fact he was next to useless after a day sleeping in the car.

* * *

The next morning, Dean woke late and found the bed beside him empty.

"Sam?"

"Here," Sam said from behind him.

Dean rolled over and saw Sam sitting at the table with his laptop open in front of him. His hair was damp and he was dressed. Dean saw the cane leaning up against the wall beside Sam's chair, meaning he had at least been using it and wasn't pushing himself too hard. Satisfied that his brother was okay, he pushed himself to a sitting position and looked at the laptop.

"You surfing for porn?" he asked with a grin.

Sam chuckled. He had expected his brother to launch into questions about how he was feeling. This light teasing was a welcome change of pace. It felt like things were getting back to normal. "Nah, I did that while you were sleeping. Now, I'm looking for info on this new case."

"Find anything good?"

"I'm not sure there is a case. Not a supernatural one at least. The victims have all been strangled. It could be a human killer."

Dean stretched, wincing at the pop of his spine. "Could be. Then again, you could think that about half of our cases. I say we check it out anyway. Go to the crime scene and see if there's any EMF at least."

Sam frowned. That was something he couldn't do. The crime scene was in the park and it wasn't reachable by car. Dean and Bobby were going to have to go for a hike. That was one of the things that was bothering him. Dean and Bobby were going to have to go this alone while he sat in the motel, useless. He had wanted them to get back to hunting, but he had secretly hoped he would be able to help out.

"What's with the bitch face?" Dean asked.

"Nothing," Sam said, forcing a smile. "Just thinking is all."

"About?"

"About how useless I am going to be for this hunt."

Dean took a deep breath. He didn't know what to say to his brother. He felt like he should be comforting him, but feelings and emotions weren't his forte. He had been laid bare since Sam's accident, sharing more than he ever had before, but that didn't aid him now.

"You're not useless. You just can't help with the hand-to-hand stuff. Think of it as a vacation."

"A vacation?"

"Sure, you get to hang back here and watch Casa Erotica while Bobby and I go traipsing through the forest. I know which option I'd prefer." He raised his eyebrows.

Sam forced a smile. He would much rather be hunting than sitting back at the motel watching porn, but he couldn't tell his brother that. He knew Dean and Bobby were alert for signs that he was sinking into depression, and Sam's admittance would be a big one. In truth, Sam was feeling a little low but nothing like he had felt before. He guessed there were still enough anti-depressants in his system to stave off the worst of it. He didn't know how long they would linger though or what he would do when they wore off.

There was a knock at the door and Dean jumped up to answer. Bobby stood on the threshold carrying a tray of coffee and box of donuts.

"I brought breakfast!" he announced.

Dean stepped aside to let him in and he plunked his packages down on the table. Sam reached for a coffee and sighed contentedly as he took a sip. "Good coffee."

Bobby grabbed his own cup and sat on the second chair, leaving Dean to sit on the bed. They ate and drank in companionable silence. When they were finished, Sam stood with the aid of his cane and tossed the trash into the bin. It would have been faster and easier for Bobby or Dean to do it for him, but they both knew Sam needed to feel as capable as possible.

"So, we good to take a hike today?" Bobby asked.

Dean nodded and cast a wary look at Sam.

"I know, I'm on motel and porn duty," Sam said with a sigh.

"I'm telling you, Sam. You got the good end of the deal." Dean got to his feet and rubbed his hands together. "So… hunting again."

He tried to sound enthusiastic at the prospect, though he wasn't really feeling it. Even before Sam's accident, Dean hadn't been loving the hunt the way he used to. In truth, he hadn't been feeling it the same way for years now. Not since he got back from hell. It used to be his life; the reason he got up in the morning. Now, it was something he did out of a sense of duty. It was strange for him to be taking a backseat with the leviathans, though it was a necessity. Sam couldn't be involved in the fight, even if he was physically able; there were too many triggers for his missing memories involved.

"Hunting soon," Bobby said. "First, you are going to shower your grungy ass and get some clothes on. I'm not taking you out in your shorts."

* * *

**Thanks as always to everyone that is reading and special thanks to those of you that review. I love hearing from you all. **

**Once again, I am going to push the Samifer story. I am having so much fun writing it, and I would love it if you gave it a chance. It's posted on Snarkymuch2's page and she can be found under my favorite authors. **

**CoM x **


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta'ing this and for all her help and encouragement through the writing process.**

**Sorry for the delay getting this chapter out to you (again). Snarkymuch2 and I have been crazy busy working on our Samifer story, and we didn't have a chance to edit this chapter. Good news though, we have finished writing now, so updates should be back on track. **

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-One**

Bobby and Dean traipsed through the ferns, brushing away the branches that snagged at their hair and faces.

"How much farther?" Dean asked through his panting breaths.

"We're almost there," Bobby said.

Of the two of them, Bobby was handling the hike best. He may be older than Dean, but he took care of himself. Dean, on the other hand, made cheeseburgers a staple part of his diet.

Dean was glad Sam wasn't with them. If he was, he would have been laughing his head off at Dean's struggle. At least he would have once. Now, with his new mobility issues, Sam might not see the funny. The thought made Dean frown.

"You think Sammy's okay?" he asked.

"I'm sure he's fine. You certainly made sure he knew his limits before we left." Bobby frowned. He hadn't been impressed with Dean's long lecture to Sam, though Sam endured it with an understanding smile. Sam was under strict instructions to stay in their motel room and to do nothing more strenuous than surf for porn.

They walked on for another ten minutes before Bobby came to a halt. "We're here."

Dean looked around the small clearing and frowned. "And here would be?"

"Where the bodies keep turning up," Bobby said patiently. "They've found five here."

"Doesn't sound very supernatural," Dean observed. "Using the same dumping ground sounds more like a human killer to me."

Maybe Sam had been right and they were following a human killer after all. It would be a shame. Now Dean was actually on the hunt again, he felt some of the excitement returning to him. Especially as he knew his brother was safe and sound back at the motel.

"I don't know," Bobby said. "Barker seemed pretty certain it was something other."

Barker was Bobby's friend who had hooked them up with the hunt. He had been working the case before there was a new development with the leviathans, and he had been pulled in to help out.

Dean pulled the EMF detector out of his pocket and flicked it on. "Let's see what we've got."

The machine immediately whirred to life and began humming. The red lights flashed, and Dean frowned at it.

"Okay, I take that back. This is definitely supernatural. Look at this thing."

Bobby looked over his shoulder. "Yep. Guess Barker was right. You think we're dealing with a pissed off spirit?"

"Could be," Dean said. "Some poor sap that was killed coming back for revenge. It doesn't explain the victims though. They were all aged twenty-five to thirty-five and all male. Seems a bit specific for a ghost."

"You think it's going after the profile of its killer?" Bobby suggested.

Dean shrugged. "Don't know."

This was Sam's normal area of expertise. He was the one that made connections and tried to understand the reasons behind the creature's actions. Dean tended to overlook the reasoning, more concerned with taking out the threat.

Dean switched off the EMF detector and stuffed it back in his pocket. "What next?"

"Well—"

Whatever Bobby was about to say was cut off as an unseen force knocked him from his feet. He fell back to the ground, huffing as the air was knocked from his lungs.

Dean spun on his heel and glared around the clearing, searching for a sign of Bobby's attacker, but there was no one. The leaves on the ground shifted in the light breeze, but other than that all else was still.

"Don't just stand there," Bobby said from the ground. "Arm yourself."

Cursing his stupidity, Dean made a grab for the canvas holdall they had brought with them. Before he snagged the handle, something shoved him against a tree. Stars danced in front of his eyes, obscuring his vision.

Bobby clambered to his feet. "Dean!"

Dean couldn't speak. Invisible fingers had wound their way around his throat and were compressing his windpipe. All he managed was a strangled gasp.

Bobby darted to the holdall and pulled out a shotgun loaded with salt rounds. Stepping to Dean's side, he aimed sideways and pulled the trigger. A man appeared as the salt rounds reached their mark and Dean and Bobby both got a look at the ordinary looking man's face before he dispersed.

Dean fell away from the tree, panting. "What the hell was that?"

Bobby rubbed a hand through his beard and looked thoughtful. "I think it's called a ghost."

"Very funny," Dean groused. "Why'd it come after me?"

"Well, you do fit the profile. I think we just met our killer."

Dean rubbed at his sore throat. "I think we should get out of here before it comes back."

Bobby nodded. "Agreed."

They grabbed their bags and headed back along the trail that had led them to the clearing.

"Now we have the what_, _we need to find out who that was," Bobby said.

"Sounds like a job for Sammy," Dean said with satisfaction. He was glad that there was something Sam could do to help on the case. Especially something that wouldn't get him hurt. Dean knew it was hard for Sam to sit back and watch him and Bobby go out on the hunt, and he knew Sam would appreciate having something to do.

He shouldered the holdall and they set off along the trail back towards the car.

* * *

Sam wasn't breaking Dean's rules exactly. He figured walking the length of the room was about as strenuous as surfing for porn, and he needed to keep going with his physical therapy.

He turned at the bathroom and made his way back to the motel door. He had been making passes up and down the room all morning, building his endurance. It was tiring but satisfying work.

As he finished his last pass of the room, he flopped down onto the bed and tossed an arm over his hot face. He felt like he had run a marathon, when all he had done was make a few dozen passes up and down the room. He calculated the distance and realized it fell short of his goal, which was the distance between the diner and the motel. He wanted to get out for a walk in the fresh air for a change.

The door swung open and he raised his head to look up at his brother.

Concern creased Dean's brow as he saw his brother lying on the bed with his arm covering his face. "You okay?" he asked immediately.

"I'm fine." Sam noted the redness around his brother's neck. "What happened to you?"

"Some pissed off spirit got the jump on me. Had its hands around my neck for a minute before Bobby shot it full of salt."

Sam got to his feet and examined his brother's throat. There were clear red imprints of fingers that were going to bruise in the morning. "You should put some ice on it," he advised.

Dean batted away his hands. "I'm fine, Sam."

Sam didn't look convinced, but he knew how much it bothered him when Dean fussed so he spared him the same annoyance. "So, it's a ghost we're going after?"

Bobby sank down onto the edge of the bed and took off his cap. He watched the brothers' interaction with a smile. It felt like the way it used to be, with Sam fussing and Dean pushing him away. "Yep. We were hoping you might be able to work some magic on the laptop and track down an ID on the guy."

Sam grinned. This was something he could do that would actually help. He moved to sit at the table—oblivious to Dean's careful scrutiny—and booted up the laptop.

While Sam worked at his laptop, Dean sat opposite and watched his brother work. It felt good to be in the old routine again, with Sam working away on a case while he waited. At times in the hospital, when Sam had been in his coma and the doctor was talking about brain damage, he'd thought this would never happen again. He had thought his brother was lost to him forever. He thanked his rarely lucky stars that he had been wrong.

After nearly an hour of scouring news archives and obituaries, Sam turned the laptop to face Dean and asked, "Is this your ghost?"

Dean examined the picture carefully and scowled. "Yeah, that's him. I got a good look into his face as he was choking me. Who is it?"

"Marshall Bennett. He was murdered ten years ago. That was why it took me so long to find him. I was looking at recent cases," he said apologetically.

"Let me guess; he was strangled in the forest," Bobby said.

Sam stretched his hands out in front of his and cracked his knuckles. "I think so. His body was found in the woods at least. He went hiking one day and never came home. They never caught his killer."

"Sounds like good background for a vengeful spirit," Dean observed. "He's pissed that his killer was never caught, so he's taking it out on innocent people."

Bobby scrubbed a hand through his beard. "Ten years is a long time to wait though. Why'd it take him so long to start killing?"

"Here's the thing," Sam said. "It was the anniversary of his death last month. My guess is that triggered his wrath. Ten years is a long time to go without any kind of justice."

"Sucks for him," Dean said lightly. "Unfortunately, we're hunters not cops. He's going to have to do without his justice in exchange for a little salt and gasoline." He pulled the laptop closer to him. "Any clues on where he's planted?"

Sam shook his head. "I'll have to look for the obit. I found the story in the news pages." He yawned widely. He was tired after only an hour on the laptop, and he was getting a headache. He used to be able to work for hours without break; he was apparently out of practice.

Dean saw the slight tightening around Sam's eyes. He knew all the quirks of his brother, and he knew this was a sign of pain. "You okay, Sam?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Sam lied.

Despite the fact he knew his brother was lying, Dean didn't press the subject. He trusted Sam to tell him if it was something he should worry about.

Bobby saw Dean's restraint, and he was pleased that he didn't push the subject. They both had to get used to Sam being on his feet again after seeing him so weak for so long, and allowing him to keep his secrets was a part of it.

Sam turned the laptop and started searching through the archives for a funeral announcement. It only took a few minutes for him to find it. "Good news," he said. "He was buried not cremated, so we're not looking for an object."

"That's good news," Bobby said. "I didn't fancy playing the needle in a haystack game. What's the bad news?"

"He's buried in Spokane. We've got a…"—he checked the online route planner—"six hour drive to get there."

Dean sighed. "Six hours in the crap-mobile. Awesome. Man, what I wouldn't give to have my baby back."

Sam smiled. "You going to tell me why the Impala is on lockdown?"

"No!" Bobby and Dean said together.

"Sam, it's really…"

"Better if I don't know," Sam said wearily. "I got it."

"I don't think you do," Dean said. "Those memories are dangerous to you. You _don't_ want to know."

Sam frowned. He had kept his promise—he hadn't searched for the missing memories—but it felt odd to him to be missing two years worth of life. He felt sure that something big had happened that he should know about.

"Just trust us," Bobby said softly.

"I do," Sam said. "It's just weird for me not knowing."

Bobby nodded sagely. "I bet it is."

"But you're safer not knowing," Dean said. He was terrified of those memories. If hell started spilling out in his brother's mind again, he could be tormented by Lucifer again or worse. When Castiel had first broken down the wall, Sam had gone into a coma of sorts. Dean couldn't bear the thought of losing his brother again when he had just got him back.

Sam wasn't satisfied by Dean's assurances that he was better not knowing, but he saw the desperation in his brother's eyes and knew he shouldn't press the topic. It was getting him nowhere other than to hurt Dean.


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta'ing this and for all her help and encouragement through the writing process.**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

Dean woke with a jerk and sat up abruptly. He'd had a nightmare. In his dream, Sam had been lying in the hospital bed again, but this time he wasn't waking. Doctor Saunders was flicking off the power switches of the machines sustaining Sam, and he was dying. In the dream, Dean was frozen in place, unable to move or speak to stop her. It was horrifying for him to be trapped inside his own body, unable to do a thing to save his brother. It wasn't the first time he'd had the dream, and he doubted it would be the last.

Knowing the only thing that would calm his pounding heart was seeing Sam, he climbed out of the bed and pulled on a pair of jeans. Making his way down the rickety stairs, he called out to his brother.

"I'm here," Sam called from outside the cabin.

Dean swung open the front door to find his brother sitting on the steps with a mug of coffee in his hand.

"Morning." Sam turned and noted Dean's pallor. "You okay?"

Dean nodded. "Bad dream."

"The hospital again?"

Dean raked a hand through his hair. "Yeah, the same as before."

The first time Dean had the dream he had leapt out of bed and searched the cabin for a sight of his brother. In the emotional rush of finding his brother alive and well and surfing the internet, Dean had been caught off guard and the whole sorry tale came out. Sam had been understanding and sympathetic that time and each time the dream came after. He confided that he'd had similar dreams in the past regarding Dean.

"I'll get you some coffee," Sam said.

He got to his feet and made for the small kitchenette in the cabin. Dean had to remind himself that Sam was perfectly able to do it alone, as his immediate reaction was to tell Sam to stay where he was while he got it himself.

It had been eight weeks since the salting and burning of Marshall Bennett, and things had changed. Sam was almost completely back on his feet. The cane had been relegated to the trunk of the Ford, and though Sam wasn't up to jogging yet, he was able to walk the distance into the small town and back without difficulty. The first time he had made the trip—to stock up on groceries—Dean had been a nervous wreck. It was only the fact Sam had invited him along that stopped him from driving behind Sam ready to wrestle him into the car at the first sign of tiredness. Sam's strength wasn't the only thing that had changed. Sam and Dean's relationship was different; Dean was more open with his affections and emotions. Sam was taken aback at the change at first. After a lifetime of avoiding heart to hearts, Dean was suddenly instigating them.

It was that new openness that got Sam through the weeks of difficulty as the last of the antidepressants left his system. As far as withdrawal went, it wasn't so bad. He felt a little displaced from his surroundings at times, a little dizzy, but that was okay; it was the return of the depression that he had to battle. It didn't get as bad as it had been in the hospital, but it still dogged his footsteps. Being out of the hospital helped, as did his continued recovery physically, but it was the fact that he was able to articulate his feelings to his brother that had been the crutch he had needed.

That was over now, as was his physical therapy, and Sam felt good.

Shortly after they had dealt with the remains of Marshall Bennett, Bobby had got a call for help from his friend Mackey. Mackey was one of the hunters working the leviathan case and he needed Bobby's assistance.

Bobby hadn't wanted to leave Sam and Dean so soon after Sam had got out of the hospital, but the need to protect people had overcome his own wishes. After eliciting a promise from Dean that he would call if anything happened or if they needed help, he had gone to Chicago to meet Mackey and the other band of hunters.

Sam came out onto the stoop and handed Dean a mug of coffee. Dean nodded his thanks and took a sip. The burning liquid chased the last of the anxiety from his dream away, and he relaxed on the step.

"What's the plan for today?" he asked. "Another trip into town or are you going to drag me on another of your nature walks."

"Dude, they're not nature walks. It's called hiking, and no, I was thinking we could do something a little different today."

Sam's tone was tentative, with good reason. He had a lead on a hunt, and he wasn't sure how his brother was going to take it. They hadn't hunted since Spokane. Dean had persuaded him to take a break to allow himself to work the final steps of his recovery. Now that was over, Sam wanted to get back to work.

"What you want to do?" Dean asked, oblivious to Sam's discomfort.

"I found something in the news pages this morning. Something that looks like our kind of deal."

Dean frowned. "You were looking for a case?"

"I was looking for the lotto numbers," Sam lied. "I happened upon a case."

Dean swallowed the last of his coffee and tossed the dregs onto the grass. "Fine, tell me what you found."

"Bodies are racking up in Wyoming. They're being reported as animal attacks, but the victims are found sans hearts."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You found all that in the news did you?

Sam rubbed at the back of his neck. "I may have hacked around in the local PD archives for more information."

Dean sighed. "We agreed we weren't hunting."

"While I was recovering. Guess what, I'm recovered!"

"Sam…"

"No, Dean. I'm fine now. I can walk. I can hunt. All we're doing by sitting around here is letting people get hurt."

Dean looked into his brother's earnest face and knew he was right. Sam was back on his feet and ready for the hunt. The only hold up was Dean. He had enjoyed the couple of months. It had been peaceful living in the cabin. And while he knew they couldn't hide from the world forever, he wished they could.

He sighed heavily. "Okay. Whereabouts in Wyoming are we headed?"

"We're hunting?" A brilliant smile crept across Sam's face.

"Yeah, I guess we are."

* * *

Two hours later, they had packed up their meager belongings into the stolen Ford and were barreling down route ninety in the direction of Pinedale, Wyoming.

Sam was happy as he sat with his head resting against the window. He was back on the road with his brother, where he belonged. The only thing wrong with the scene was that they were in a ratty Ford and not the Impala. He wondered idly how long they had to leave it in hiding before it would be safe to drive again. He didn't have quite the same attachment to the car that Dean did—that was just plain weird—but it was the closest thing to a home that he had.

They reached a place called Warm Springs around noon, and they decided to stop for lunch. They came across a diner called Momma's and Dean pulled the car to a stop at the side of the road. Sam got out of the car and headed into the diner, holding the door open for his brother. He relished in the freedom of movement, remembering the last time they had stopped on the road and the way he had needed to lean heavily on the cane to make it through the door. Now, no one would be able to tell he had ever been injured.

Dean saw Sam's satisfied smile, and correctly guessed what was making his brother so happy. He was pleased to see his brother back on his feet too.

They seated themselves at a table by the window and waited for someone to take their order. Sam surveyed the menu while Dean scanned the diner, looking at the other patrons. It was a hunter's habit to be aware of their surroundings.

When the waitress came to take their order, Dean smiled widely at her, making her blush. "I'll have a bacon cheeseburger and he'll have whatever rabbit food you have on offer," he said.

Rather than being annoyed at the jibe, Sam smiled. "A caesar salad, please, and a coffee."

"Coming right up," the waitress said, giving Sam a smile.

"Hey, dude, I think she likes you," Dean said when they were alone again. "Want to stay in town a few days? Have a little fun."

Sam shook his head. "We need to get to Wyoming."

"The fugly will still be there in a few days."

"And there will likely be a couple less residents," Sam said reasonably.

"I'm only saying…" Dean trailed off.

"And I'm only saying no. We don't need any more delays. You know that."

Dean did know that. He just wanted his brother to have a little fun. It had been far too long since he had kicked back and enjoyed himself. He started to say something else, in hopes of persuading his brother to take a break, but Sam's stern look cut him off. It seemed that Sam wasn't going to be distracted from their hunt.

Their food arrived, and they ate in companionable silence. When he was finished, Sam pushed away his plate and pulled his laptop out of the bag. He had saved the news pages and now he read over them again.

"Anything good?" Dean asked through a mouthful of burger.

Sam shook his head. "I'm not sure. I don't have the moon phases in my head so I can't tell if we are going after a werewolf or something different."

"Could be a skinwalker," Dean said. "Like the ones from—" He cut off abruptly.

"Like the ones from where?" Sam asked.

"Nowhere." Dean avoided Sam's eye. He had been about to refer to the skinwalkers they had hunted in Buffalo

"What were you going to say?"

Dean pushed away his plate. He couldn't believe he had slipped like that. "Nothing. Forget about it."

"Apparently I already have," Sam said bitterly. "I'm guessing we've gone after a skinwalker before in my forgotten years. That's fine. I don't remember, but that's fine."

"Sam…" Dean didn't know what to say. He knew that those missing years were a problem to Sam, but he wasn't about to risk him remembering. Even if it wasn't for the hell memories breaking through, he wouldn't want his brother to remember his soulless months; they were memories he didn't need to be tormented by.

"I said it's fine, Dean," Sam said curtly.

Dean knew it wasn't, not for Sam, but he didn't press the subject. So far, Sam had been remarkably accepting of his amnesia, and he hadn't pushed for the memories. Dean didn't know whether he would have the same restraint in his position.

"We should get going," he said, gesturing to the waitress for the bill.

Sam closed his laptop and put it back in his bag. "Missing memories aside, you're going to need to fill me in on skinwalkers. I don't know anything about them."

"Yeah, sure. I think there's something in Dad's journal about them." He rallied for a way to improve Sam's mood and to change the subject. "Hey, Sammy, you want to drive?"

* * *

It was early evening by the time Sam pulled the car to a stop outside the office of a motel in Pinedale. He went into the office to book them a room and Dean unloaded their bags from the car. They had stopped on the drive for Chinese food, which was cooling on the backseat.

Sam came out of the office, twirling a key on his finger.

"Any problems?" Dean asked, referring to the fake credit card they had used to pay for the room.

Sam shook his head. "Nope, Mr. Rumsfeld and his brother have a room for the next week."

"A week?" Dean questioned.

"I figured it was better to book for a while. We don't know how long we are going to need to be here."

Dean nodded. Even if they got the case dealt with quickly, they could stand to kill a few days here until their next case came along. And he was sure there would be a new case. Now Sam was back on the hunting wagon, he would want to keep at it while they could.

Dean would have liked to check in with Bobby in person, he was in Chicago now, but that would mean bringing Sam too close to the leviathans for comfort. He thought that perhaps they could arrange to meet somewhere neutral if Bobby wasn't too busy.

Sam grabbed the food from the back of the car and they let themselves into their room. Tossing their duffels down on the bed, Dean stretched and yawned. Despite the fact it was the norm for them, he always felt tired after a day on the road. He knew Sam would want to set out on the hunt in the morning, so he decided to get an early night.

Sam set out their food on the table and they sat down to eat. Sam thumbed through his father's journal as he ate, reading up on skinwalkers. It was strange, the information felt completely new to him, despite the fact he was sure they had confronted one fairly recently. He expected it to resonate something within him, and though he wouldn't admit it to Dean, he was disappointed that it didn't.

"Find anything good in there?" Dean asked as tossed the trash from his dinner into the can.

Sam perused the pages again. "From what I've read, they're a lot like shapeshifters. Silver will do the job if we get a heart or head shot. They also like eating hearts. I'm still not sure if we're not working with a werewolf though." He pulled his laptop out of his bag and pulled up the news pages again. "These deaths all coincide with a moon cycle."

"Any witnesses?" Dean asked.

Sam checked over the information again. "We've got a survivor. The attack was interrupted. A Mr. Harrison Phelps. I say we make him our first interview."

"Awesome. Are we going as feds or reporters?"

Sam chewed his lip as he hacked through the firewall of the local PD records. "Mr. Phelps has quite a rap sheet: drunk and disorderly, operating under the influence, affray. He's more likely to talk to reporters than cops."

Dean clapped his hands together. "Even better, no monkey suit." Even after all this time posing as cops for a case, Dean still hated to wear the suit. It felt constricting to him. "Right, I'm going to hit the sack."

Sam shut down the laptop and went into the bathroom to shower. He was tired too, and he was eager for the morning. He was looking forward to working a case again.

* * *

The next morning Dean and Sam went to Harrison Phelps's house. Sam was tired and listless. He hadn't slept well. His dreams had been fragmented and confusing, and he woke with a headache. Dean saw him knocking back Tylenol and was concerned, but he accepted Sam's assurances that he was fine.

Dean knocked on the door, and a moment later a man opened it wearing a ratty looking bathrobe, a stained vest, and boxer shorts. He reminded both Dean and Sam of their old friend Chuck.

"What d'ya want?" the man asked, looking at them through bloodshot eyes.

"Mr. Phelps, my name is Dean Waterson and this is my colleague Sam Carthy. We're reporters with the Weekly World News."

The man straightened and quirked an eyebrow. "Reporters?"

"Yes sir. We're interested in the story of your narrow escape from the wild animal that has been killing people in the area."

"Interested, huh? How interested?"

The penny dropped, and Sam put on his most charming smile. "Very interested. If the story is published, we will make full remuneration for your time."

"Remuner-what?"

"We'll pay," Sam said simply. "Upon publishing of your story, a check will be sent to you to show you our appreciation."

Phelps stepped back and gestured them into his house with a smile. "Please come in. Excuse the mess; I haven't had a chance to tidy today."

From the look of the house, he hadn't had a chance to tidy this century. It was an unholy mess and it smelled foul. Sam felt dirty just being in the place, and he vowed to shower as soon as they got back to the motel.

Phelps swept the old newspapers and takeout wrappers from the couch onto the floor and gestured for them to sit. They sat on the very edge of the couch, neither of them wanting to come into contact with more filth that necessary.

"So would you mind telling us what happened to you?" Dean asked, flashing a smile at the unfortunate man.

"It's like I told the cops. I was walking back from the bar—I'd stopped by for a short one after work—and I was attacked by this huge animal!" He tugged up his vest and showed them the healing gore marks. "Damn near killed me."

"Did you get a good look at the animal?" Sam asked.

"Yeah I did. It looked like a coyote, but it was huge. Like the size of a man. It was growling and snarling."

"Like a coyote," Dean supplied.

"Yeah, but it wasn't. It was too big, and the way it pinned me was pure animalistic."

"Like a coyote," Dean said again.

"No, that's what I'm telling you. It wasn't a normal coyote. It was like a mutant."

Dean looked innocently incredulous despite the fact his mind was working overtime at this new piece of information. "I don't know Mr. Phelps, it sounds like a run of the mill animal attack to me."

"I don't know." Sam saw Phelps's rising color and tried to diffuse the situation. He could tell Dean was having fun baiting the man, but he still had a couple of questions that would be easier answered if the man was in a good mood. "It wouldn't be the first time we heard of a mutant coyote."

Dean glared at him. "Yeah, but they all turn out to be crackpots."

"You calling me a crackpot?" Phelps demanded.

"Not at all," Sam said smoothly. "You must understand that in our line of work we do come across a lot of strange stories that turn out to be erroneous, but yours has the ring of truth about it."

"Damn right it does. If it hadn't been for the fact I fought it off, I would be a dead man now."

Sam couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. "You fought it off?"

"Hell yeah, I did. Just me alone against the beast. Well, me and Webbsy."

"Webbsy?"

"My buddy. He heard the noise and come to help. He shot the best with his .45. But you can't tell the cops that part. He's not supposed to have the gun technically. His license was misplaced a couple of years ago, and he hasn't had a chance to replace it yet."

Dean doubted 'Webbsy' had ever had a license in his life.

"So when your friend shot the 'beast'"—Sam tried to keep his amusement from his tone—"it fled."

"Yep, run like a bat out of hell. Like I say, I'm lucky to be alive."

"Well, Mr. Phelps, you have certainly given us enough to build a story from," Sam said, getting to his feet. "We will report this to our editor, and if the story is published, we will send you a check."

"You want to take a picture of my wounds for the paper?" Phelps offered, tugging up his vest again.

"That's not really our department," Dean said easily. "The paper will send out a photographer if the story is carried."

The man visibly sagged as they got to their feet to leave. He seemed to have enjoyed the chance to tell his tale. "You think the paper will want my story?" he asked hopefully.

"The check's as good as written," Sam lied. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Phelps. We appreciate you talking to us."

"Yes, it was definitely interesting," Dean added.

"You're welcome," Phelps said happily. He was already taking guesses at how much his check would be for.

He saw them to the door, and shook hands with them before they left.

Dean wiped his hand against his pant leg as the door closed behind him. "Ugh. That place was just nasty."

Sam nodded in agreement. "It was worth it though. We know what we're dealing with now."

"We do?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, I read something in Dad's journal this morning. We're up against a yenaldooshi."

* * *

**Thanks for all the reviews, faves, and alerts. I am creeping in on 200 reviews now which is amazing. I never thought I would make it to 100. Thanks to everyone that has helped me get here.  
CoM x **


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta'ing this and for all her help and encouragement through the writing process.**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

They had got back to their motel room and had both showered before Dean ventured his question.

"So, what's a yenald-whatever?"

"Yenaldooshi." Sam flipped open his father's journal and showed Dean the page he had been perusing that morning. "They're skin walkers from Navajo legends. They're seriously bad mojo. Not only are they able to take animal form to kill, they're shamans, too."

"Shamans? Great. That's all we need."

Sam flipped through the pages. "Dad says they spread sickness through a powder made from corpses and can make pellets out of bone."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

Sam nodded. "Afraid so. This isn't going to be an easy kill."

"You're telling me." Dean raked a hand over his face. "So, what do we do, look for native looking folks and touch them with silver?"

Sam laughed. "That will go down well. No, I think we need to be clever about this. Phelps was attacked at the edge of the forest, and the other victims have all been found within the same area."

"If the next words out of your mouth are nature walk, we're going to have a problem."

"I told you. It's hiking, not a nature walk."

"You're not reassuring me here, Sammy," Dean said pointedly.

"That would be because I'm not trying to," Sam said with a grin. "I think our best chance is to try and lure the yenaldooshi into a trap. If one of us plays the victim, the other can lie low and arm himself with silver bullets."

Dean sighed. He didn't want to be bait, but he wanted his brother to do it even less. "Can't we just be on the lookout for native looking people?"

Sam chuckled and Dean looked at him quizzically.

"We could, but on the other side of the park is a reservation with twelve-thousand residents. I think it would take us a while to get through them all."

Dean groaned. "Let me guess, it's a Navajo reservation."

"Actually, no. It's the Arapaho and Shoshone tribes."

"Then what's a Navajo skinwalker doing here?"

Sam shrugged. "They can travel, I guess. If they're living as human, they could be anyone among the town. If it's living wild, it will be even easier to hide out in the forests."

Dean sat in thoughtful silence for a moment. He was trying to come up with a way to trap the skinwalker without using himself as bait. He definitely wasn't letting his brother do it. No matter how he came at the problem, he reached the same problem; there were just too many people to check. It didn't help that this was a fugly more dangerous than their usual. He had come up against a hoodoo shaman back in Louisiana before he jumped Sam from Stanford, and it had been a tough case. He had almost come off on the losing end of that fight. Luckily, bullets kill indiscriminately.

"Okay," he said eventually. "We'll go for a nature walk and see what comes of it."

Sam rubbed at the back of his neck uncomfortably. "I don't think a hike alone is going to cut it. All the attacks have happened at night so far."

Dean buried his face in his hands. "Please don't say it."

"Sorry, Dean, but we're going camping."

Dean groaned. "Awesome."

* * *

"Tell me again why we are doing this," Dean said as he pushed the cart up the aisle.

"Because we want to catch the…" Sam trailed off as a woman with a toddler paused beside them, appearing to listen in to the conversation. "The bad guy. And to catch the bad guy we need to be in the forest."

The woman shot him a confused look, and he smiled and nodded to her as he pulled Dean further up the aisle. "Unless you want to go for a midnight hike, we're going to need this gear."

"No, I don't want that," Dean said grudgingly. "How do you know about all this stuff?"

Sam was moving confidently up and down the aisles picking out equipment and throwing it into the cart. "It doesn't take a genius to work out that we'll need a tent," he said evasively.

Dean frowned. Sam was hiding something. He waved his hand at Sam, gesturing for him to continue.

Sam looked determinedly at his feet. "Jess and I used to camp back in the day."

"Oh." Dean mouth clamped closed. He never knew what to say when Sam mentioned his old girlfriend. He still felt a lot of guilt for dragging Sam away from her before her death. If Sam had been there, Brady wouldn't have been able to kill her. Or maybe he would. Dean didn't know, but he felt guilty nonetheless.

Sam grabbed two holdalls from the rack and threw them into the cart. "I think we're set."

The awkward moment was broken. Dean pushed the cart to a checkout and began loading their purchases onto the conveyer belt. Sam chatted with the cashier as she ran up the sale.

With all their equipment loaded into the cart again, they headed out for the car.

"You were having fun in there," Dean said.

Sam grinned. "Well, you know me; I love to shop."

"No, with the cashier. I bet you could have got her number."

"I was being polite, Dean. Not everyone follows their libido through life."

Dean shrugged. "It's not a bad way to live."

Sam tossed the tent onto the backseat of the car. "I'm happy the way I am, thanks."

Dean was determined to get his brother to kick back a little and enjoy life. The way he saw it, Sam had been given a second chance and he needed to grab it with both hands. They didn't come around often.

Oblivious to his brother's desires, Sam was thinking the same thing. He knew he was lucky to be alive, and he was going to use his second chance to save as many people as he could. He felt it was the best way to honor life, not through a bunch of meaningless one night stands.

* * *

"You could help, you know," Dean said in exasperation. He was currently holding the tent pole in one hand and a swatch of canvas in the other. He had been attempting to pitch the tent for the last twenty minutes without success.

In revenge for Dean's continued pressure about his sex life—he had continued in the car—Sam had suggested they play rock, paper, scissors to see who should pitch the tent. Naturally, he had won, and he was now sitting cross-legged on the ground, watching Dean's struggles with poorly concealed amusement.

Seeing his brother was one step away from shredding the tent in frustration, Sam took pity on him. He got smoothly to his feet and took the tent pole from his brother. "Fine, I'll pitch the tent. You get some coffee going."

"Coffee? As in build a fire to boil water?"

Sam chuckled. "No, I brought a portable gas burner. It's in one of the bags."

Sighing with relief, Dean rooted through the bags looking for the burner and Sam set to work on the tent. Ten minutes later, they had a perfectly erected tent and Dean had water boiling for coffee.

Sam leaned back on his elbows and watched a squirrel scamper up a tree. It was peaceful out here in the forest, and he was enjoying himself. He allowed his mind to wander back through the years to the days he spent camping with Jess. As he had no home to go to in the school breaks, he had stayed in town. Jess was a California native, and once they were together, she stayed with him in his apartment. They would spend weekends camping in Saratoga Skyline Park. Rather than making him sad, as memories of Jess were wont to do, it made him happy to think of her. He felt that he was finally on his way to becoming someone she could be proud of.

"You think it'll come tonight or are we going to have to be here a while?" Dean asked.

"I don't know. Phelps was the last attack and that was interrupted. I'm hoping he's hungry enough to come after us."

"A hungry shaman that eats hearts," Dean muttered. "Tell me why we do this job again."

"Because we're saving lives," Sam said simply.

And that was the crux of it. They were out in the woods, risking their lives again, in hopes of saving someone else's. It wasn't a bad way to live, Sam thought.

When darkness came, they settled in their tent. They were both too wired to even attempt to sleep, though they had agreed to sleep in shifts so someone was always listening out for the yenaldooshi.

One thing they hadn't considered when making their plans was the sounds of the forest. They both thought they would hear the skinwalker coming miles off, but the forest was alive at night. Owls hooted and small creatures scurried across the ground.

"How are we supposed to hear it coming?" Dean asked in a whisper.

"I have a feeling it'll make a lot more noise than a possum," Sam answered.

He was right. When the yenaldooshi came, they were more than aware of it.

Sam had stepped out of the tent to relieve himself when he heard a long drawn out rising and falling howl. He reached into behind him for the gun he had concealed in his jeans.

"Dean," he hissed.

"What?"

Sam rolled his eyes. Why else would he be calling to his brother in the middle of a pee break? "It's here."

There was the sound of scuffling in the tent and a moment later, Dean's head appeared at the tent door. Sam shook his head rapidly. They had agreed that only one of them would be in view when the creature arrived to pose a tempting target.

Dean saw Sam's exasperated look, but he wasn't about to go back inside. They had agreed that one would pose as bait, but they hadn't agreed which one, and Dean was determined it wouldn't be his brother. He knew the tent wouldn't provide any protection from a normal coyote, never mind a supernaturally charged skinwalker, but it would have made him feel better to know his brother was inside.

They locked eyes in a silent battle of wills, each demanding the other get back in the tent, but neither obeyed.

Then the howl came again, and Dean lurched out of the tent and got to his feet. Sam scowled at him, but Dean ignored it.

"Where do you think it is?" Dean asked.

"It came from that direction." Sam pointed west.

Dean's eyes tracked in the direction Sam was pointing, and he searched for a sign of the creature. It was too dark to see anything, but his senses told him something was approaching. A moment later, pounding paws could be heard against the bracken. Dean shoved Sam behind him and raised his own gun.

Not liking being unable to aim his weapon, Sam stepped aside and pointed his gun into the darkness.

"Remember," Dean said softly. "A head or heart shot."

Sam would have rolled his eyes, but he was busy scanning the darkness for a sign of their prey. One moment he was staring into nothing, the next he had been knocked off his feet and was staring up into the treetops.

"Sam!" Dean bellowed.

Sam heard the crack of a gun and then a yip of pain followed by a muffled curse. He tried to speak, to tell Dean that he was okay, but the air had been knocked out of him by the fall.

"Sam, talk to me!" Dean commanded even as he searched for the creature again. It had disappeared into the trees. He knew he had shot it, but the bullet had hit its flank, enough to injure but not kill.

"I'm fine," Sam said when he had regained his breath. He got to his feet and picked up the gun. "Where'd it go?"

"I don't know, but I have a feeling it will be back for more." Dean's gun roved the darkness.

Out of the darkness came the sound of pounding paws again and then it was there. Phelps hadn't been entirely truthful; it wasn't the size of a human; it was bigger. It was almost beautiful with its loping grace and raw muscle.

The second Sam took to admire it, was a second too long. He was knocked to the ground again, and this time the creature pinned him in place with paws on his chest. He could feel claws piercing his skin as he stared into yellow fathomless eyes.

"Sam, get down!" Dean ordered.

Sam thought it was a pointless order as he was already pinned to the ground. But he allowed his head to drop back anyway so he was lying flat on the ground.

Dean leveled his gun at the monster on top of his brother and aimed carefully at the head.

A second later, there was the crack of a gun and the weight on Sam's chest became a dead weight.

Dean raced forward and shoved the animal off his brother. His heart contracted as he saw the blood seeping through Sam's shirt. "Dammit," he cursed. "Are you okay?"

Sam nodded, unable to find words for a moment. Dean tore open his shirt and examined the cuts the claws had made. They didn't look deep, but they had to hurt like hell.

"Can you stand?" Dean asked.

"Yeah." Sam held out a hand, and Dean took it and eased his brother to his feet. Sam's chest burned, and he thought he might have cracked a rib the second time the creature toppled him.

Dean looked down at the corpse of the beast and took a step back. Where there had just been the corpse of an overly large coyote, there was now a wizened looking man. It was hard to believe that this pathetic looking man could have been a threat.

"We need to bury it," Sam said.

Dean nodded and pulled a shovel from the duffel at the tent door. Sam reached for one too and winced as he bent over. Dean's gaze snapped to his brother and a frown creased his brow.

"You hurt?" There was thinly concealed worry in his tone. Dean was hyper-alert to injuries since Sam's accident.

Sam sighed. "I think I cracked a rib."

"And you didn't tell me, why?"

"Because it's not a big deal," Sam said. He hadn't told his brother because he didn't want Dean looking at him the way he was now, like Sam was weak and needed to be coddled. He had seen that look for weeks in the hospital and had seen it fade as he had recovered at the cabin. Now it was back, and it made Sam feel five years old again.

Dean scowled. "What happened to being honest with each other? We agreed you'd ask for help when you needed it."

"And I would if I did," Sam said reasonably. "It's just a cracked rib, nothing serious. We've both had plenty worse before."

Darkness crossed Dean's features. They had both had worse before, but Sam especially and recently. He knew he was overreacting to Sam's injury, but recent events had made him trigger-happy in regards to his brother's health. He took a deep breath and released it slowly. "You're right. We have. But you've got a busted rib, so let me do the burial while you pack up our stuff."

Sam nodded and set about pulling their tent down while Dean started digging a grave.

* * *

They were both tired and dirty by the time they let themselves back into the motel in the early hour of the morning. Sam headed straight for the shower while Dean collapsed onto the bed.

Sam examined his latest injuries in the bathroom mirror. The scratches on his chest weren't deep and wouldn't need stitches. They would likely scar though, adding two new scars to his collection including his surgical scars. He traced the faint pink line of the scar from his chest surgery. It lay almost exactly over his heart. Seeing the evidence of his accident made him a little more understanding of Dean's overreaction.

He stepped into the shower and allowed the hot water to stream over him, washing the dirt and debris of the hunt from him. The hot water felt good against his sore muscles. He was careful not to stay in there too long, knowing Dean would want to shower too. No sooner than the thought occurred to him, Dean called to him from behind the door.

"You drown in there?"

Sam chuckled and wrapped a towel around his waist. Throwing open the door, he said, "No, and I even saved you some hot water. Tell me what an awesome brother I am."

Dean scoffed. "Yeah, you're an awesome pain in my ass. Let's take a look at those cuts."

Knowing Dean wouldn't settle until he was sure Sam would be okay, he sat on the edge of the bed and stayed still as Dean probed at his wounds.

"You'll live," Dean said when he had finished his examination. "Now, get some sleep, you look like crap."

Sam smiled. "I'm fairly sure I look better than you."

"Not even possible," Dean said lazily as he closed the bathroom door.

Sam toweled himself off and changed into a pair of sweats, electing to leave his chest bare so as not to aggravate his wounds.

He sat on the edge of the bed and thumbed through his father's journal. Despite Dean's command, he wouldn't try to sleep until his brother had finished his shower. He would only be woken again when Dean came back into the room, banging around as he got into bed. It was uncanny. When on the hunt, Dean could be as stealthy as a fox. The rest of the time he made as much noise as possible, as if he didn't want anyone to miss his presence.

Sam was perusing the pages describing skinwalkers again. He couldn't help but think they had gotten off easy in the hunt. He had been prepared for a lot worse. Something tugged at his memory, something about skinwalker hierarchies. He shook off the thought, deciding to talk to Dean about it in the morning. He stretched out of the bed and waited for Dean to finish in the shower.

Ten minutes later, Dean came out of the shower to see his brother snoring contentedly on top of the covers. He smiled to himself as he threw a blanket over Sam and crept to his own bed.


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta'ing this and for all her help and encouragement through the writing process.**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

Dean woke before Sam the next morning, and he was the first person to notice the blood trickling from his brother's nose. He wasn't immediately alarmed, Sam had suffered nosebleeds as a kid, so this was nothing new.

He crossed the space between them in two strides and shook his brother's shoulder. "Sammy, wake up. You're bleeding."

"I'm sleeping," Sam said lazily.

Dean chuckled. "I know you are, buddy, but you are also bleeding."

Sam pushed himself to a sitting position and wiped a hand across his face, smearing the blood across his cheek. "Oh."

"Yeah, oh," Dean said. "Here, lean forward and pinch your nose. I'll get you a towel."

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned forward. Blood dripped down onto his blanket.

Dean came back into the room and handed him a damp towel. Sam used it to wipe away the blood from his face.

"Wonder why you're getting nosebleeds again."

Sam shrugged. "Dunno. I haven't had one for years."

He turned to look at his brother and Dean's leaned closer to examine his brother's eyes. There was something off about them. Upon closer examination, he saw that they were seriously bloodshot.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked, seeing his brother's concerned expression.

"Your eyes are bloodshot."

"That's odd." Sam released the bridge of his nose tentatively, wanting to see if the bleeding had stopped, it had. He turned as if to get out of the bed, but Dean held him back with a hand to the shoulder. "Take it easy a moment."

Sam acquiesced and leaned back on the headboard.

"You feeling okay?" Dean asked.

"I've got a headache," Sam admitted. "I didn't sleep well. Nightmares."

"About?"

"I'm not sure. They were confusing. I know I was hurting in them, though." Sam raked a hand through his hair. "They were just dreams."

Dean nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah." He got to his feet and rooted through the duffel for a change of clothes. "I'm going to go get us some breakfast. You stay there a little longer, okay?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah." He accepted his brother's fussing, as he really didn't feel too good. His nightmares had left him feeling a little shaky, and that, coupled with the nosebleed, made him happy to relax in bed for a few more minutes.

Dean dressed and left the motel. A moment later, Sam heard the sound of the Ford's engine roaring to life.

Dean's hands tapped nervously against the steering wheel as he drove. Something was needling at him, and he couldn't put his finger on it. It wasn't just Sam's nosebleed and bloodshot eyes, though they were worrying, it was something more.

He cast aside his dour thoughts as he reached the diner. He pulled the car to a stop at the side of the road, mentally bemoaning the fate of his baby. The Impala had drawn eyes wherever it went—which was precisely the problem—and the Ford was a crappy substitute.

Next to the diner was a drug store, and he stopped in there to pick up some more Tylenol for their first aid kit. Sam was getting through them fast. He spotted some instant icepacks on a shelf and he grabbed a few of them, too.

He paid for his purchases and made his way into the diner. A middle-aged woman with an embroidered shirt naming her as Maggie was waiting behind the counter.

"What can I get ya, sugar?"

Dean smiled his most charming smile at her, and she blushed.

Dean flirted indiscriminately. It sometimes earned him an extra pancake in his breakfast or a larger portion of fries.

"Can I get two short stacks with sausage to take away, please?"

"Of course, anything else?"

"Two large coffees, please."

"Coming right up."

Maggie wrote down his order and passed it through the serving hatch to someone out of sight. She came back to Dean and leaned her elbow on the counter. Resting her chin on her hand, she smiled at Dean. "You new in town?"

"Just passing through. Me and my brother are on a road trip."

"Heading anywhere good?"

"No definite plans," he said. It was true they didn't know where they were going next, but Dean didn't think they would be kicking their heels here long before Sam found them a new job.

"You should stick around. Pinedale has some of the best hunting in the state."

Dean turned his laugh into a cough. Pinedale did have some great hunting, especially if you were going after skinwalker coyotes.

"I'll bear that in mind," he said.

A bell rang at the serving hatch and someone called, "Order up."

Maggie poured their coffees and picked up the paper package. "Here you go, hon. Enjoy your breakfast, and if you get a chance, come in again. We make a mean cheeseburger."

"Now you're talking," Dean said, and she laughed.

Dean waved to her and carried out the food to the car. He set it on the passenger seat and started the car.

Back at the motel, Sam was sitting at the small table by the window, flicking through his father's journal again. When Dean came in, he tossed it onto the bed and took one of the paper cups of coffee Dean was holding.

"How're you feeling?" Dean asked.

"Better," Sam said. "My headache's fading."

Dean nodded his satisfaction and sat down opposite his brother. "What were you doing with Dad's journal?"

"I've been thinking about last night's hunt," Sam said, pulling open his package of pancakes and drizzling syrup over them.

"What about it?"

"It was too easy. The yenaldooshi are supposed to be shamans, but we only encountered the coyote part of it. Why wouldn't it have used all the tools at its disposal to attack us?"

Dean shook his head. "Maybe it wasn't a yenal-whatever. Maybe it was a run of the mill mutant coyote."

Sam quirked an eyebrow at him.

"What? It's possible."

"You sound like Phelps."

Dean kicked his leg under the table. "I do not."

Sam rubbed at his sore shin. "Okay, you don't. But there is still something wrong with this. It was definitely a skinwalker. In case you've forgotten, it changed into an old man after it was killed."

"Okay, so it was a skinwalker, doesn't mean it has to be _the _skinwalker. They infect with a bite, right? Maybe this one was the victim of an alpha." Dean bit his tongue. He had forgotten that Sam had no memories of their encounters with the alphas.

"An alpha?" Sam phrased it as a question. Something in the term tugged at something in his memories. Before he could think about whether it was a good idea to follow the thought, his mind presented him with a flash of images. _A rifle on a tripod aimed into the parking lot of a warehouse. Dean aiming the gun at a man._ Pain seared through his head and he winced, but the memories kept on coming. _A man tied to a chair with silver wrapped ropes. Dean bearing down on the man. A dog bleeding from the leg. _

"Sam! Sam! Sammy!"

Dean's voice broke through his thoughts and he raised his head to look into his brother's frantic eyes.

"What happened?" he asked.

"I was going to ask you the same thing," Dean said. One minute they had been talking, the next Sam was folded over the table with his head in his hands. His eyes were squeezed shut, and the grimace on his face told Dean he was in a lot of pain. He had called to his brother, frantic with worry, but it was as if Sam wasn't hearing him.

Sam wiped at his face and pulled away his hand to see a trickle of blood was creeping down from his nose again. His head was pounding, and the light in the room seemed too bright.

He picked up a napkin from the table and used it to blot at his bloody face. His nose didn't seem to be bleeding anymore. "What happened?" he asked again.

"I don't know, man. One minute you were fine, and the next, it was as if you were having a vision. It wasn't a vision was it?" Cold fear gripped Dean's chest. If Sam was having visions again… Well, it couldn't mean anything good.

"I don't know," Sam said. "It kinda felt like a vision. I saw things… strange things."

"What did you see?" Dean's tone was calm, though he felt anything but.

Sam gave a rundown on the things he had seen. The more he told him, the paler Dean became.

Dean's legs felt weak and he stepped back to sink down on the edge of the bed. Sam wasn't seeing the future; he was seeing the past. These were memories of the last time they had gone up against a skinwalker. Sam was remembering! It felt like a lead weight had slipped into Dean's stomach.

"Dean, what is it?"

"I think…" he cleared his throat. "I think you're remembering things."

Sam rubbed at his temples. They were pounding to the beat of his heart. "These things happened?"

Dean nodded. "A while ago."

Sam leaned back in his seat as Dean's words caught up with him. He was remembering. He rooted through the images again, searching for something more. There was nothing new other than an emotion that didn't seem to fit the scene. The image of Dean pointing the gun at the man in the parking lot came with a sense of frustration, frustration that Dean was hesitating.

"I need to know what happened," he said.

"No, you don't!" Dean's tone was harsh. He got to his feet and paced the length of the room, raking his hands through his hair in frustration. "You _can't_ know what happened, Sammy. It's not safe for you."

"But there's something wrong. The memories don't feel right. I need to know what I was doing."

Sam didn't understand, Dean thought. He _couldn't _remember. Those were memories from his time being soulless. They were too closely linked to his memories of hell. If he remembered them, what was to say he wouldn't remember hell, too?

"Sam, please," Dean pleaded. "Trust me this time. You can't know what happened. It would hurt you."

Sam looked into his brother eyes and saw the poorly concealed desperation there. Dean looked almost on the verge of tears. Sam wanted to know more—he felt that he needed to know more—but the need to protect Dean was higher.

"Okay," he said slowly. "I can't know."

"You won't go looking for the memories?" Dean asked hopefully.

"I won't."

Dean exhaled in a rush. "Thank you, Sammy. Seriously, thank you."

Sam forced a smile. It was hard to do; he felt awful. His head was pounding and his eyes stung from the light.

"You okay?" Dean asked, concern thick in his tone.

"I think I need to lie down for awhile," he admitted. He stood on shaking legs and made his way over to his bed. Flopping down on the mattress, he curled in on himself and hid his face against the pillow.

Dean went to his duffel and pulled out a bottle of pills. He poured a glass of water and then knelt beside Sam's bed. "Here, take these. They'll help."

"What are they?"

"Effective," Dean said simply.

Sam pushed himself up on one arm and took the pills from Dean. "Thanks."

Dean knew from the fact Sam took the pills without complaint that he was really in pain. It made him even more concerned for his brother.

Sam lied back against the pillows, and within moments, he was fast asleep.

Dean stood and raked a hand across his face. He was feeling immeasurably guilty. It had been his slip that had caused Sam to remember. He would have to be more careful in future. He couldn't risk it happening again.

He sat down at the table and picked at his now cold breakfast. He had no appetite left, so he picked up the packages and tossed them into the trash. He sat back down and rested his elbows on the table. Hiding his face in his hands, he thought of what would happen next. He wished there was someone he could talk to that would be able to advise him. He needed Bobby back, but Bobby was busy hunting down leviathans, out of reach, but not out of contact.

He checked that Sam was still sleeping soundly, and then he pulled his phone from his pocket and stepped out of the motel room door. He walked to the Ford and leaned against the hood as he pressed the speed-dial assigned to Bobby's primary cell phone.

A gruff voice came over the receiver. "Bobby Singer."

Dean smiled at hearing the familiar voice. There was something about Bobby that Dean found inexorably comforting. He always had the answers, well, nearly always.

"Bobby, it's Dean."

Bobby's voice immediately softened. "Hey, boy. How are ya?"

"I'm…" Dean was about to say that he was fine, but the lie wouldn't come. Instead, he found himself choking up as he thought of everything that had happened that morning. "I'm not good," he admitted.

"What's happened?"

"It's Sam."

"It always is." There was a hint of affection in Bobby's voice. "What's he done this time?"

"He's remembering," Dean said simply.

There was a sharp inhale from Bobby's end of the call. "How much?"

"So far, only the skinwalkers we hunted in Buffalo, but I'm scared there's more."

"How is he?"

"Confused. It was scary, Bobby. One moment we were just talking and the next it was as if he was having a vision. His head was hurting him, and he was in serious pain. He still is."

"Where is he now?"

"Sleeping. I gave him a couple of pills, and they've knocked him out." Unlike the last time he had dosed Sam, this time Dean felt no guilt for what he had done. Sam had known what he was taking was powerful and he hadn't argued.

"Okay, that's good," Bobby said. "Now, tell me exactly what happened. How did the memories come to him?"

"I messed up, Bobby," Dean said mournfully. "We were talking and I mentioned alphas. It triggered something in his mind and he started remembering that hunt."

"It wasn't your fault," Bobby said briskly. "It could have been anything that triggered the memories; it was just unlucky that this time it was you."

"You think it will happen again?" Dean asked, anxiety heavy in his tone.

Dean heard shuffling in the background, and he could imagine Bobby taking off his cap to run a hand through his hair as he always did when thinking hard. "I think it's a definite possibility."

"What am I going to do?"

"The first thing you are going to do is calm down. You're no good to anyone if you lose your head, least of all Sam. Second thing you're going to do is get out of wherever you are. Get Sam back to the cabin, and I'll meet you there."

"What about the leviathans?" Dean asked. Though he wanted to see Bobby again, he didn't want him abandoning his responsibilities just to come deal with another Winchester drama.

"They'll keep. We've hit a bit of a dead end with them anyway. I'll tell you all about it when I see you."

"Thanks for this, Bobby. I really appreciate it."

"It's no problem. To be honest, I'll feel a little better myself if I saw you both in person. This thing with Sam has me a little worried."

"That makes two of us," Dean said.

"I'll see you in a few days," Bobby said. "You take care of yourself and that brother of yours."

They exchanged goodbyes and Dean put the phone back in his pocket. Pushing himself away from the car, he went back into the motel room and stood for a moment, looking down at his sleeping brother.

"Oh, Sammy. What am I going to do with you?"


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta'ing this and for all her help and encouragement through the writing process.**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

When Sam woke, his head had settled to a slight ache. He pushed himself to a sitting position and looked around the room. Dean was nowhere in sight.

He got to his feet and walked into the bathroom. He splashed cold water on his face and stared at his reflection. He looked a little pale and his eyes were still bloodshot. Raking a hand over his face, he thought back to the flash of memories he had seen and the consequences. It had been worse than the vision headaches he used to get. He was torn about the memories themselves. He wanted to remember what had happened in the missing years, but Dean was adamant that it was a bad thing. What could have happened that was so bad?

He shook off the question and went back into the motel room. There was a sheet of paper on the table and he picked it up. It was a note from Dean saying he had gone out to get them some food, and if he was to wake, he was to stay in the motel and rest.

Sam rolled his eyes. Dean was going to be even more overprotective than usual after this latest drama. Though Sam understood it, he wasn't happy about it. He had enjoyed the last few days, as Dean had laid off a little with the mother hen routine.

He sat down at the table and pulled the laptop towards him. He could do something useful while he was 'resting', he could search for their next case. He pulled up some of his favorite websites and scanned the news for anything that could portend something supernatural. He was midway through a story about a missing person in Memphis when the door opened and Dean came in brandishing a greasy looking paper bag.

"Oh, good, you're up," he said. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better"

Dean examined his brother carefully. He definitely looked better, but he was also known for hiding things. Remembering Sam's vow of honesty, he decided to trust him. He dropped the paper sack down on the table and rooted through it for the meal he had brought Sam.

"Hurry up and eat," he said. "We need to head out soon."

"We're leaving?" Sam asked. "Did you find us another case?"

"No, we're heading back to Montana."

Sam frowned. "What about the yenaldooshi?"

"What about it? It's dead. I ganked it. Hunt over."

"I don't think it is," Sam said. "It was too easy for a yenaldooshi. I think we need to go after the alpha."

Dean sighed. He didn't want his brother jumping right into another hunt after the way the last one ended. He wanted them to take some time to regroup. Besides, he wanted to see Bobby. Luckily for him, logic was on his side. "And how are we going to do that? We have no leads on where it is. It could be anywhere and anyone."

"We can check the news pages for similar deaths," Sam pointed out.

"We could, but we're not." Dean thought that he should have known Sam wouldn't let it go so easily. "We're going to Montana to meet with Bobby."

"Bobby is back?" Sam brightened.

"Yeah, I called him while you were sleeping. We're going to hook up at the cabin."

"I thought he was busy working with Mackey on this super secret fugly that's going on."

"Apparently they've hit a dead end, and he's got some time to kill."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "And this has nothing to do with what happened this morning?"

Dean rubbed at his face uncomfortably. "It's a contributing factor, but he wants to see us, and you can't deny you want to see him."

Sam didn't deny it. He had missed the gruff hunter, and he would like to see him again. Still, he didn't want him dropping a hunt just to check up on him; he was fine now.

"Come on, Sammy. Just this once, make it easy on me," Dean pleaded.

"Okay. We'll go back to the cabin," Sam relented. "But we're not staying long. There's a missing person I want us to check out."

Dean sighed with relief and pulled his burger out of the bag. Sam watched him for a moment and then picked up his fork and poked at the salad Dean had brought for him.

* * *

They got back to the cabin late evening, and Sam wasted no time in heading out to collect wood for the fireplace. Dean carried in their bags and set them down on the couch. He knew it would be at least a day before Bobby got there, and he rallied for a way to distract his brother from the hunt while they waited.

Sam came back in with an armful of split wood for the stove, and he set about building a fire for them. It was summer, but Montana nights were cold and the cabin felt like an icebox.

"We're going to need groceries," Dean said, searching through the cupboards and coming up empty. "And beer."

Sam nodded. "We'll head into town in the morning."

Dean flopped down on the couch and flicked on the TV. There was an old monster movie playing and he settled in to watch it. Sam booted up the laptop and started scanning the news articles he had saved at the motel that morning.

"You'd better be searching for porn," Dean said, looking over the back of the couch at his brother.

Sam grinned. "Not unless the Memphis Herald has branched out."

"Come on, Sammy. Give the research a break for the night and come watch a movie. You don't have to be on duty all the time."

Sam quirked an eyebrow. "This coming from Dean I-am-the-mighty-hunter Winchester."

Dean scowled at the jibe. "Things change, Sam. I've learned there are more important things in life than the hunt."

Sam knew he was referring to the accident, and he didn't know how to respond.

Dean saw his brother's discomfort. "Just take a night off, Sam, please."

Unable to refuse his brother's clear need, Sam closed the laptop and sat down on the couch beside his brother. "What're we watching?"

"From Hell It Came," Dean said with enthusiasm. "Worst monster movie ever. It's a classic."

Sam chortled and Dean turned to look at him. "What's funny?"

"From Hell It Came," Sam explained. "It sounds like the pair of us."

Instead of laughing as Sam expected him to do, Dean frowned. Unbeknownst to Sam, Dean's thoughts had taken a dark path. They _had_ both been to hell and came out of it, but unlike Sam, Dean had come out of it relatively unscathed. Sam was living with a ticking time bomb inside his brain. A wealth of memories that could come pouring out at any moment.

Sam shoved Dean's shoulder. "You okay, man?"

Dean raked a hand over his face as if that could wipe away the thoughts. "I'm fine."

Unconvinced but respecting his brother's privacy, Sam sat back and turned his attention to the TV, ignoring the sidelong glances his brother gave him.

* * *

Two days later, Bobby arrived in a plume of dust and exhaust fumes. Dean heard him coming a mile off, and he went onto the porch to wait for him. The car chugged to a stop and Bobby climbed out, smiling widely.

"Hey, Bobby," Dean said with a smile of his own. "It's good to see you."

Bobby clapped him on the shoulder. "Where's that brother of yours?"

"Out on another of his nature walks or in town; I'm not sure. He said something about being sick of the cabin. Whiney bitch."

Bobby laughed. He knew better than to take Dean's griping seriously.

He followed Dean into the cabin and took the beer he was offered. They sat at opposite sides of the table and each took a long draw of beer.

"So, how is he really?" Bobby asked.

"He's doing okay. He hasn't had any more memories resurfacing, and he hasn't mentioned headaches, so that's all good. He's going a bit stir-crazy sitting around here though. I took his laptop off him to stop him searching down cases."

"He let you do that?" Bobby asked with a raised eyebrow. "Doesn't sound like him."

"He bitched and moaned about it for a while, but he got over it. He saw sense. There's no point in hunting down cases when we are taking a break."

"And he's okay with that?"

"I haven't given him a choice," Dean said simply.

Bobby nodded thoughtfully. "Okay, that's Sam covered. Now, how are you doing?"

Dean looked surprised. "Me? I'm fine. Like I said, Sam's doing good; he's not—"

"I already know about Sam," Bobby said. "I'm asking about you. How are you doing with all this?"

Dean sighed. He should have known Bobby was going to come at him about this. In truth, he wasn't doing too well. He wasn't getting decent rest. The nightmare of Sam dying in the hospital had greeted him two nights in a row now. When he was awake, he was constantly alert for changes in Sam. He felt he had to watch every word in case something triggered a memory in Sam; it was wearing him down.

"I'm tired," he admitted. "I feel like I am walking on eggshells around Sam all the time. I can't let my guard down in case I say the wrong thing and trigger another memory. All he wants to do is hunt, and that's the last thing I want to do. He's agreed to hang here to see you, but once you're gone, I don't know what we are going to do."

Bobby took a long swig of his beer as he thought. He had been thinking of this as he drove across from Chicago. Dean and Sam were in a precarious position. The wrong word could unleash all kinds of memories in Sam—all kinds of hell. But Dean couldn't live the rest of his life watching each word he said. That was no way to live.

"You don't want him hunting," Bobby said eventually.

"I don't want him near anything that might trigger a memory," Dean said. "We were hunting a skinwalker before, just like we did in Buffalo. He was looking into it when I mentioned alphas. One word was all it took for the memory to come back."

"Then avoid things you've hunted before," Bobby said.

"It's not that easy. I can avoid the things I know he's hunted with me, but there's that year he spent with Samuel to account for. All Samuel's crew are dead; there's no one I can ask about what they did. He never really told me much of what happened."

"'Course he didn't," Bobby said. "It was tough enough for him to know what he got up to while running around soulless; he wouldn't want you knowing, too."

"That's a good point, but it doesn't help me now. How am I supposed to protect him when I don't know what I'm protecting him from?"

Bobby scrubbed at his beard. "I wish I had all the answers, boy, but I don't. I'm as lost with this as you are." He had _an_ answer, but he didn't think Dean was ready to hear it. He needed to come to the conclusion on his own. There was only one way to even hope to protect Sam from recurring memories and that was to stop hunting.

Dean rested his head in his hands. "I don't know what to do anymore, Bobby. It's like fate has got it in for Sam. It's one thing after another. I thought the amnesia was a blessing, when really it was just a stay of execution. No matter what I do, Sam is screwed."

"He's not screwed," Bobby said reasonably. "Let's think about this logically. If Sam gets the memories back, what will happen?"

"He will end up with Lucifer riding shotgun again."

"That's the worst case scenario. Maybe Lucifer was just a glitch. Sam could be fine. He was managing well enough before the accident."

Dean scoffed. "Yeah, he was doing okay, but he shouldn't have to. He shouldn't have to live his life with Lucifer bouncing around in his brain. And all the memories of his soulless months, they were taunting him. That's no way to live a life."

"Neither is what how you're living now," Bobby said reasonably. "You can't live watching each word you speak, and you can't shield Sam from triggers if you're going to be hunting them."

Dean frowned. "So, what do we do? Quit hunting?"

Bobby raised an eyebrow and Dean gaped at him. "You're serious; you think we should stop hunting."

"Is it such a crazy idea?"

Dean had an answer ready and waiting — of course it was — but when he tried to speak, he faltered. Was it such a crazy idea? He had considered it before, when Sam was in the coma and they were talking about brain damage. He had decided then that he would do whatever it took to take care of his brother, including giving up hunting to care for him. Could he do it now?

The answer was an easy yes. If this was what it took to protect Sam, it was what he would do.

"No," he said slowly. "It's not a crazy idea."

"The way I see it, you've got three choices," Bobby said. "You keep hunting and hope you don't trigger Sam's memories anymore. You quit hunting and quit talking about it. It's no good quitting and then triggering it some other way."

"What's the third option?" Dean asked.

Bobby took a deep breath. He knew Dean wouldn't like this option. "You tell him the truth. Tell him about his soulless months. Tell him how long he was in hell, and what it did to him. Tell him about Castiel and what he did to Sam. Tell him about Lucifer bouncing about in his grapefruit. In short, tell him everything. Get it all out in the open, so if and when the memories come back, they're not a shock to him. So, if, god forbid, Lucifer does come knocking again, he'll be prepared for it."

"No!" Dean said curtly. "No way, no how. I'm not opening him up to all that crap again."

Bobby nodded. He had known this would be Dean's response. "Then you're left with the other two options. Hunt and hope for the best or close the curtain on the life and move on."

There was only one option as far as Dean was concerned. He couldn't risk his brother coming into contact with fuglys that might trigger something. They would have to give up the life. He had done it before, again for Sam. That time it had been to keep a promise. He had lived with Lisa and Ben for a year, and it hadn't been a bad way to live. He could do it again. He could go back to working a nine to five, and Sam… Well, Sam could go back to school.

The more Dean thought about it, the more he warmed to the idea. Sam could have the normal life he'd always wanted. He could go to school and have friends and a real home. Dean smiled as he thought of the life they could have.

Bobby watched Dean carefully as he thought it through. He knew he had reached Dean when a slow smile crept over his face.

"We can do it," Dean said. "I've left the life before, and it worked out all right."

Bobby nodded. "You can."

As fast as it had come, Dean's happiness faded. He had come to a sticking point in his plan. "What about the leviathans? We can't just leave you to fight them alone."

Bobby scoffed. "I'm not alone. There are over a dozen of us working the case, and we're doing okay. It's not your responsibility to save the world this time, Dean. You've done your bit. You both have. Let someone else take over."

Bobby wanted this for his boys. The year Dean had spent with Lisa and her kid had been the closest thing to happiness he had seen a hunter get. He had been gutted when Dean had been dragged back into the fight. This was a chance for both Dean and Sam to have the life they deserved. A real life. A normal life.

Dean looked into Bobby's eyes and saw how much he wanted this for them. "We can do that?" he phrased it as a question.

"You can," Bobby said emphatically. "You will."

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. "We're quitting." He said it simply, though he knew it was anything but. He still had to get his brother on board with this; that would be the hard part. "Okay," he said. "Tell me about the Leviathans. You said you'd hit a dead end with them. What's happening?"

Bobby drained his beer and got up to get another. He handed one to Dean and then sat back down again. "We think we can take them down if we take out the leader first."

"This Dick Roman guy?"

"Yeah, him. The theory is that if we take him out, the rest will be useless. Well, as useless as a bunch of creatures that eat people can be. According to Frank, they've got big plans, and Dick is behind it all. But it's getting close to him that's causing the problems. He basically lives in a compound."

"Sounds like a problem," Dean said unhelpfully.

"It is." Bobby sighed. "The best bet is taking him when he's travelling. A couple of the guys are ex-military and their coming up with a plan to get him when he's on the move. There's this girl we've got on side—Charlie she's called. She's a whizz on computers. She works at one of Dick's companies. Right now she's trying to work out a way to reroute one of his trips so we can lay the trap."

"Sounds like a good girl to have on side," Dean said.

"She's pretty darn good," Bobby said. "Don't know what we'd do without her. Don't know about the leviathans, but she scares the crap out of me sometimes."

"Leviathans?" The voice came from the doorway.

Bobby and Dean's heads snapped towards the sound. They saw Sam standing in the doorway with a paper sack of groceries in his arms. As they watched, his face drained of all color and the bag slipped from his arms, falling to the floor and spilling out fruit and packages of pasta and breaking a bottle of beer.

"Dean, I don't feel so…" Sam didn't manage to finish his sentence before his knees buckled and he fell to the floor.


	26. Chapter 26

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta'ing this and for all her help and encouragement through the writing process.**

**If you reviewed and didn't get a reply, I apologize. I had trouble sending messages. Know that I am very grateful for your comments.**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

Sam'd had enough of the cabin after the first night, so he had been escaping into the woods for walks. He noticed that morning that they were running low on beer. Knowing Bobby was on his way, he had gone into town to pick up some more. At the register, he'd seen a bottle of Johnnie Walker on the shelf, and he had brought that, too. Dean and Bobby would appreciate it.

When he got back to the cabin, he noticed a second car parked beside the Ford. Grinning at the thought of seeing Bobby again, he hastened his footsteps. He was just crossing the porch when he heard a snatch of Bobby and Dean's conversation.

"Sounds like a good girl to have on side."

"She's pretty darn good. Don't know what we'd do without her. Don't know about the leviathans, but she scares the crap out of me sometimes."

"Leviathans?" Something in the word tugged at Sam's memories. He remembered the sensation from the morning after the skinwalker hunt, and he tried to push away the thoughts before they could overwhelm him again. It was no good, though. They came at him anyway. He felt a sick churning in his stomach. His hands felt nerveless, and the bag he had been carrying fell to the floor.

"Dean, I don't feel so…"

Words failed him as the images came. He found himself passenger in his own body as his knees weakened, and he felt himself dropping to the floor. His hand shot out to break his fall and landed on a piece of broken glass from one of the beer bottles. The cut was deep, but he barely felt it. He was being assaulted by images, and his head was pounding in agony.

Dean lurched towards his brother and gripped his shoulders. "Sammy!"

Sam didn't respond. He was hunched over, gripping his head in his bloody hand. The room stunk of the spilled beer.

Bobby pulled Sam's hand away from his face and pressed a folded towel over the wound to staunch the bleeding. With his face uncovered, both he and Dean could see Sam's grimace of pain.

"Sam, look at me," Dean commanded.

Sam couldn't seem to do anything but watch the images flash before his eyes. Voices and sounds assaulted his mind, voices other than Dean's and Bobby's, though he could hear them pleading with him. Knowing these were only memories was not enough. The things he was seeing scared him, and he wasn't a man easily scared.

"Argh!" Sam moaned as a powerful wave of pain swept through his head. It felt like his skull was going to split in two; he retched.

"It's okay, Sammy. You're okay." Dean turned to Bobby. "What do we do?"

Bobby looked back at him with concern creasing his brow. "I think we have to let him ride it out. There's nothing else we can do."

Dean hated to watch his brother suffer, but he didn't know what else to do.

Eventually, the images slowed and tapered off in Sam's mind. He blinked, trying to clear his vision. He found himself on all fours on the floor. Dean was gripping his shoulders, and there was a hand on his back that he guessed was Bobby. He was kneeling in a patch of spilled beer, and it was soaking through the knees of his jeans. More pressing than his damp knees was the burning pain in his hand and the continued pounding of his head. He leaned back on his haunches and raised his head to look at Dean who he could now hear talking.

"You okay, man?"

Sam nodded tiredly. "I think so. My head, argh"—he massaged his temples—"my head hurts."

"You think you can stand?" Bobby asked gently.

He nodded and used Dean's proffered hand to help him to his feet. His legs felt unsteady but they held him as he crossed the room and sank down onto the couch. Dean hovered at his side, ready to steady him if needed.

Bobby examined Sam's injured hand. "This is going to need stitches." He rooted through his duffel and pulled out a bottle of pills from his first aid kit. "You want some of these?" he asked.

Sam shook his head. "Not yet."

"Sam, you're in pain," Dean said in a concerned tone. "Take something."

"Not yet." He massaged his temples as if that could ease the thudding in his skull. "They'll knock me out."

"That's a good thing, boy," Bobby said. "You don't need to be awake right now."

"I do," Sam said. "I need to understand what I saw."

Dean sighed as his fear was confirmed. He had suspected that it was more returning memories that had caused his brother's collapse. He cursed himself and Bobby for not being more careful. They should never have spoken about the leviathans when there was even a chance of Sam overhearing. It had been stupid of them. Now Sam was suffering the consequences.

"What did you see?" Bobby asked as he pulled a suture kit from his duffel and blotted away the blood from Sam's cut hand.

"He doesn't need to talk about that now," Dean said sharply, scowling at Bobby.

"I do," Sam said.

Dean raked a hand over his face and sat down beside his brother. "Fine. Tell us what you saw."

"Leviathans," Sam said. "That's what they're called, right? Those freaks with the teeth."

Bobby nodded. "Yeah, that's the leviathans." He set to work suturing the cut on Sam's hand.

It was painful, but Sam didn't flinch. The pain in his head over shadowed the pain in his hand. He pressed a hand to his forehead to stave off the pain. "And we were hunting them."

"Don't you remember?" Bobby asked.

"It's confused," Sam said. "I just got flashes. We were in the scrap-yard, and there was the man; his face changed. Then I was in a cop station, and Dean came in, but it wasn't really him. At least I don't think so. They're shapeshifters, right?"

"Among other things," Bobby said, wrapping an ace bandage around Sam's palm

Dean watched Bobby dressing Sam's wound, and his mind transported back down the months to the last time he had been injured like this. It had been after Castiel had torn down the wall and summarily declared himself god. Sam had fallen in the lab, and his hand had landed on a piece of glass. Then, a few days later, as Bobby redressed the wound, Sam had admitted he was seeing Lucifer and he was having a hard time differentiating between the real world and his hallucinations. The same horror he had felt then, gripped him now as he listened to Sam's latest memory leak.

"What other things?" Sam asked.

Bobby and Dean exchanged a look. Each of them was wondering how much they should tell Sam, if anything at all.

Sam saw their exchange and he felt a pang of irritation. "No secrets," he said harshly.

"Sammy, we're not keeping secrets for the fun of it. We're trying to protect you," Dean said gently.

"I know. These memories can hurt me, right? Newsflash, they're already hurting me. This is the second time I've remembered something, and the second time it's knocked me on my ass. Now I get that something happened to me in those two years, but unless you're telling me what happened is worse than this, you need to tell me the truth."

Dean raked a hand through his hair. "It is worse."

Bobby raised an eyebrow. He didn't know if it was worse. These new symptoms were definitely more physically painful for Sam. He understood that Dean was trying to protect Sam, but he didn't agree with the way he was going about it. If they weren't open with Sam, he would go looking for the memories on his own, and there was no knowing what kind of hell that would unleash.

"Leviathans are monsters," he began."

"Bobby!" Dean said in a warning tone.

Bobby ignored the warning and continued. "They're monsters of the purest kind. They can assume anyone's form if they have a sample of that persons DNA; a strand of hair is enough for them. They're strong as almost anything we've come into contact with before, if not stronger. And they are apparently immune to physical injury. You can drop a car on one of these suckers and they'll bounce right back."

"How the hell are we supposed to fight them?" Sam asked breathlessly.

"First of all, we don't," Dean said. "You and me are out of this fight. Bobby and a gang of other hunters are taking care of it."

"And we have a plan," Bobby interjected. "There's a leader—"

"That's enough, Bobby!" Dean got to his feet and began to pace. "He doesn't need to know any of this."

"Why not?" Sam asked, massaging his aching temples. His headache was fading, but it was still more pain than he cared to be in. "I already remembered enough on my own."

"Because…" Dean had no answer to give other than the fact he didn't want his brother anymore involved in the Leviathans problem than he already was. "Just because."

Sam smiled ruefully. "That didn't work when I was five, and it won't work now. I'm trying to understand, Dean. Can't you see that? I have these flashes of images or memories, whatever they are, but that's all I get, flashes. I need to know the full story."

"Why?" Dean asked. "Why do you have to know? Why can't you just let this go?"

Sam didn't know how to explain his need, even to himself. All he knew was that he had to know, and if Dean and Bobby didn't tell him, he would go searching for the memories himself. "I just do."

"Well there's this leader. He's called Dick Roman, and we're going after him."

"Dick Roman? The Dick Roman? The guy from all the news stories?"

Bobby nodded. "Yeah, he's a bona fide celebrity, and we're looking to gank him."

Sam sat back in his seat and exhaled slowly. "Wow. And do you have a plan of how to gank him?"

"We're working on it," Bobby said evasively.

Dean watched his brother carefully. He could tell he was still in pain, but the pained expression had been eclipsed by something more familiar. It was his almost fanatical there's-a-mystery-and-I'm-getting-to-the-bottom-of -it face. It was usually saved for particularly difficult hunt—or the Sunday Times crossword. Dean wasn't happy to see its return.

"We're not hunting them, Sam," he said firmly.

"Why not?"

"Because…" Dean rubbed at the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Well… The thing is…"

Sam saw his brother's discomfort and was concerned. Dean was rarely twitchy.

Dean took a deep breath. "Bobby and I have been talking, and we think, well, I think, that the only thing to do is for us to stop hunting."

Sam laughed. "Sure you do. Nice try."

"No, Sam, I'm serious. We're not hunting anymore. It's not safe."

"It's never been safe," Sam said with a smile. "That's kinda the point, isn't it?"

Dean looked at him imploringly and Sam's smile faded. "You're serious," he said. "You don't want to hunt anymore?"

"It's not a matter of what I want, it's what you need," Dean said. "We took a risk with the skinwalker hunt, and look what happened. You remembered stuff, and it hurt you."

"Yeah, but that was an isolated incident. It won't happen again."

Bobby cleared his throat. "What about what just happened? You just heard the word leviathan, and you remembered a bunch. Your brother is right. It's not safe for you to be hunting."

Sam scrubbed a hand across his face. His headache was almost gone now; it had been replaced by a buzzing in his ears as anger took hold. "You seem to have this all worked out."

Dean nodded, pleased that his brother seemed to be accepting. "It's the only way, Sammy."

Sam nodded. "The only way to keep me safe. I get that. I was just thinking, though. Did either of you take what I might want into consideration? While you were planning my life behind my back, did you think about what I would like to do?"

"It wasn't like that," Bobby said defensively.

"No? What was it like? Really, tell me. I want to know what I am supposed to do once we quit the hunting gig. Did you line a job up for me already, or do I get to do that myself?" Sam knew he was being childish, but he couldn't seem to help himself. The anger was building and it was carrying him away.

"Sam, calm down," Bobby commanded.

Sam ignored him and leveled his gaze on his brother. "What happened to treating me like an adult? Do you remember what you said_? 'You're not a kid anymore, Sam, and I can't keep treating you like one.'_ Do you remember saying that?"

Dean remembered too well. That was a conversation he had with Sam before they went to Detroit. He had meant it then, but things had changed. "That was two years ago, Sam."

Sam scoffed. "And apparently in the last two years I did something that made me a kid again!" He got to his feet and paced the length of the small room.

"It's not like that. Sam, please, sit down," Dean implored. He expected Sam to keel over at any moment. He still looked pale and wan. "We'll talk about this, just sit down."

Sam rounded on his brother, and Dean was taken aback by the anger blazing in his brother's eyes.

"Is that an order? Because I can't tell anymore. You seem to be making all my decisions for me."

"Sam, that's enough," Bobby said firmly. "We're not treating you like a child, but you're acting like one right now. Sit your ass down before you fall down and listen to us."

Sam waved away Bobby's words. He didn't want to hear that he was being childish, though he knew he was. He wanted to use this anger to finally get some answers from his brother. He wanted to know what had happened that was so bad. "No! I want to know what the hell happened that has you both so scared. What did I do?"

Goaded past endurance and overcome with worry about his brother's condition, Dean allowed his anger to take over. "You lost your damn mind, Sam!" Though he didn't mean for it to, it sounded like an accusation. "You were tripping out and hallucinating Lucifer!"

Bobby sucked in a harsh breath. He couldn't believe Dean had just spit it out like that. After all their care to protect Sam, now he was learning the truth in the worst possible way.

Sam froze where he stood, hands fisted at his sides. He felt like he had been kicked in the stomach. "I…" He cleared his throat. "I lost my mind?"

"Yes," Dean spat. His anger was building in the wake of his confession instead of diminishing. "You were full blown cuckoo's nest! And you want to go back to that? Do you have any idea what it was like for us to stand by useless while you were tormented like that? We didn't know what to do. And now you want to remember it! Are you crazy?"

"I'm not crazy," Sam said through gritted teeth.

"I didn't mean… That's not what I meant." Dean raked a hand over his face. This was all getting out of control. He took a deep breath to calm himself and looked at him brother. "You aren't crazy. I know that. It's just that you don't understand, Sam."

"I understand just fine," Sam snapped. "I was cuckoo's nest. I was crazy. I can't imagine what a _burden _that must have been for you to live with." He raked a hand through his hair. "Damn, and I thought the last few months had been hard on you. No worries, though. You won't have to put up with me anymore."

He snatched the keys from the counter and marched to the door.

"Where are you going?" Dean asked.

"Away," Sam said shortly.

"You're not going anywhere," Dean said angrily. He reached for Sam's arm, but Sam shook him off.

"I'll go wherever the hell I want," Sam snarled. "You may have forgotten it, but I am not a child. I can do what I like."

"Sam, just calm down and listen to us," Bobby said. Until that moment, he had been stunned into silence. Watching the argument the way you watch a car wreck—unable to look away from the carnage even though you knew you should help.

Sam ignored Bobby's words and flung open the door. He pounded down the steps and wrenched open the car door and threw himself in behind the wheel.

Dean stood in front of the car with his hands on the hood. "I'm not letting you leave, Sam."

Sam threw the car into reverse, and the tires squealed as he gunned the engine. Dean jumped back as the car pulled away from him and turned.

With a roar of the engine, the Ford disappeared through the trees. Dean was only able to stand idly as Sam drove out of his life, again.


	27. Chapter 27

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta'ing this and for all her help and encouragement through the writing process.**

**If you reviewed and didn't get a reply, I apologize. I had trouble sending messages (again). Know that I am very grateful for your comments.**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

Bobby rested a hand on Dean's shoulder and squeezed it.

Dean turned haunted eyes to the older hunter. "What the hell did I just do?" he moaned.

"You lost your temper," Bobby said gently.

Dean raked a hand over his face. He had lost his temper, and because of it, he had lost his brother. Dean didn't realize he was speaking aloud until Bobby answered.

"You haven't lost him."

"How do you know?" He felt like a child again, seeking reassurance.

"I know your brother," Bobby said simply. "He'll be back."

Dean felt overwhelmed. He didn't know whether to cry or punch something. If given the choice, he would punch himself for his thoughtless words. How could he have just blurted it out like that? Sam hadn't needed to know what had happened to him, and he needed to hear in shouted at him like that even less.

Bobby led Dean back into the house. At the door, he bent down and snagged the bottle of Johnnie Walker out of the debris of Sam's shopping trip. He grabbed two glasses from the sink and poured him and Dean a generous measure each.

"Get that down ya," he said, handing Dean a glass.

Dean knocked it back in one long swallow and held out his glass for more. Bobby refilled it and then sat on the couch, waiting for Dean to join him before he spoke. Dean couldn't sit still though. He leaned up against the kitchen counter and stared out of the window, hoping for a sign of his returning brother.

"Wishing for it ain't gonna make it happen," Bobby said, drawing Dean's eyes to him. "He'll come back when he's good and ready, not before."

Dean sighed. "Doesn't hurt to try."

"I guess not." Bobby sighed. "He'll be okay, Dean. He just needs to let off some steam."

"That's what we thought last time, and while we were kicking our heels, he was in hospital in a coma."

Bobby winced as he remembered. "That was different."

"Really? You can guarantee that he's okay?" Dean asked with a raised eyebrow.

"No, but I know panicking isn't going to do any good. Neither is calling him. He won't answer yet."

Dean had pulled his phone from his pocket, ready to call his brother, but as Bobby spoke, he set it down on the counter. He knew Bobby was right. Sam wouldn't answer the mood he was in now. He needed time to calm down.

He dropped onto the couch and put his head in his hands. "What am I going to do, Bobby?"

"You're going to calm yourself down, and you're going to wait for your brother to do the same. When he's had a chance to cool off, he'll come back, and we can all talk together."

"You think he'll listen after what I said to him?" Dean asked.

"He will," Bobby said with certainty. "You both said some things you regret, and you both just need a little space to cool off. Sam isn't completely innocent in this."

"He was pushed," Dean said, automatically wanting to defend his little brother. It was innate, the need to protect Sam, even from Bobby's words.

"You both were," Bobby said reasonably. "Have another drink." He poured Dean another glass of whiskey and then screwed the top back on the bottle and set it on the table. "I have a feeling we're going to need some of this when your brother gets back."

Dean nodded. He didn't know what was going to happen when Sam got back. He wasn't entirely convinced he was going to come back. He had to believe in Bobby's certainty, though, to stop him from jumping into Bobby's car and searching the streets for him. That wouldn't go down at all well.

He sipped at his drink slowly and tried to think about what he would say when he saw Sam again.

* * *

Sam fumed as he drove. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

Now, after months of wondering, he knew the truth. He had lost his mind. He couldn't remember it, but the words resonated with him for the first time. He knew Dean was telling the truth, though he wished he wasn't. Hallucinating Lucifer… The thought of it sent a chill down his spine. It must have been torture.

He pulled out onto the main road and turned the car in the direction of the small town. He needed some space from Dean and Bobby, and he needed a drink. There was a small bar on Main Street, a small place called Maloney's. It would be the perfect place for him to hide out and calm himself down. If Dean and Bobby were stupid enough to come looking for him, it would be the last place they would think to look.

He pulled the car to a stop at the side of the road and climbed out. There was a man in preacher's garb standing outside the door, shouting warnings at people as they passed. He seemed to be warming to his theme of eternal damnation quite nicely, and his voice overrode the sounds of passing cars. Sam pushed past him and went into the bar.

It was dark and almost empty, perfect for what Sam wanted—somewhere quiet that he could think. He took a seat at the bar, and a pretty bartender came to him.

"Shot of Jack, and keep them coming," he said curtly.

The bartender opened her mouth as if about to say something and then changed her mind. She picked up a shot glass from behind the counter and filled it. Sam slammed it back in one swig and gestured for another.

His thoughts traveled back to the cabin. He hadn't imagined this was how the day would go when he set out for town that morning. He thought by now Dean and Bobby would be halfway through the bottle of Johnny Walker and they would be catching up on their latest hunts. Instead, he was alone in a bar, drinking spirits he knew he had no business drinking unless he wanted to end up flat on his back. Knowing that didn't mean he was going to stop, though. He had a feeling Bobby and Dean would be knocking back the drinks back at the cabin, and he didn't want to be the only sober one when he got back. He had a feeling he would need to be fairly inebriated to face them. He had essentially thrown a temper tantrum. Despite the provocation, he was ashamed of himself.

The bartender poured him another shot and Sam sipped at it thoughtfully. All Dean had said to him passed through his mind. He had apparently lost his mind. So much made sense now that hadn't before, why they were so dead set against him remembering his missing years. He had thought it was because he had done something bad—again—though how you could top starting the apocalypse again he didn't know. Now he knew it was because they were trying to protect him from his own broken mind. The amnesia must have seemed like a gift to them.

The bartender came to refill his glass and he put his hand out to stop her. "Can I have a beer, please?"

Nodding, the bartender fetched him a bottle of beer from the fridge. "Bad day?" she asked.

Sam raised his eyebrows at the cliché line and she smiled.

"I'm just asking. You can talk about it if you want." She looked around the almost empty bar. "I'm not exactly rushed off my feet."

Sam sipped at his beer and sighed. "I had a fight with my brother."

She examined him and smiled. "Well, I'm guessing you won, as I can't see any bruises."

Sam shook his head. "We didn't come to blows. It was more of a heated discussion."

Bruises he might have preferred over the crushing sensation in his chest that had come of the revelations he had heard today.

"And you're feeling bad about it?" she guessed.

Sam sighed heavily and took a swig of his beer to allow him time to think. "I do, but I'm also angry."

"What happened?"

"He's been taking care of me for a long time—since we were kids really—and now he's having trouble letting go of the reins. He doesn't see that I am able to make my own decisions now. I don't appreciate being dictated to. It's complicated."

"Sound's easy enough. You want to be treated like the man you are, not a child."

"It's not easy for him. Something happened to me a little while ago, and it's made him more overprotective than ever." Sam couldn't explain to her that what had happened was that he had lost his mind at the hands of the devil, so he took the easier route. Showing her something she could understand. He pushed back his bangs and showed her the scar from the surgery he'd had to drain the brain bleed.

She leaned in close to look and sucked in a breath between her teeth. "What happened to you?"

"I was in a car accident, and I got pretty hurt."

She nodded thoughtfully. "Looks like it. But you're okay now, right?"

"I'm doing better," he said honestly. The aftereffects of the car accident were all but gone now. It was the aftereffects of the last two years that was causing the problem.

"But you're not a hundred percent." She nodded to herself. "I get that. And I get why your brother is being the way he is. I have a kid sister, and if something happened to her, I don't know what I would do. I bet I'd be even more overprotective than your brother."

Sam scowled down at the table. He knew Dean had been through a lot, but that didn't mean he was allowed to take Sam's decisions away from him. He wanted to hunt. It was his choice to make, dammit, not Dean's or Bobby's.

"Answer me this," she said. "Do you think you're brother is making you miserable intentionally, or is he trying to help you?"

"He's trying to help," Sam said immediately. If there was one thing he was sure of, it was that Dean was looking out for his best interests, even if he didn't like the way he was going about it.

"Then I say you cut him a break. Talk to him and explain how you feel. He's probably just as miserable as you are right now."

Sam looked up at her and saw her earnest expression. Though he was loathe to admit it, he knew she was right. Dean was doing the best he could in a difficult situation. Sam may have been the one that lost his mind, but Dean would have been equally if not more affected. He must have been so relieved to think that Sam had been given a second chance.

He pushed away his empty bottle of beer and got to his feet. "You're right."

"Are you going to talk to him?" she asked.

"I am."

She grinned. "Good for you. Good luck…"

"Sam."

"Well, good luck, Sam."

Sam waved to her as he opened the bar door and walked out into the sunshine again.

The preacher was still discoursing on his beliefs at the corner. As Sam passed him, he reached out and grabbed Sam's arm. "The time of judgment is at hand. We are all going to hell."

"Been there, done that," Sam said curtly.

That was precisely the problem. He had been there, and it was apparently those memories that were making Dean so overprotective of him. Those memories that were lost to him. For a moment, he wished that he could remember, so he would understand exactly what Dean meant when he said they were hurting him.

It happened fast. One moment Sam was walking along the street towards the car, the next he was on all fours of the ground and blood was streaming from his nose.

_"Dean!" he pleaded for his brother to come and save him. _

_In response, he heard a cackle of glee. "He's not coming, Sam. He can't come. You are ours now, and big brother can't save you. _

_Pain ripped through him, and he screamed. His flesh was melting from his bones, leaving him raw and open. Just when he though he couldn't take it anymore, it stopped. _

_"Now, Sam, you take a minute. Then we will get back to work…"_

The voice trailed off as awareness returned to Sam. He opened his eyes tentatively and blinked against the bright sunlight.

Someone was kneeling beside him, and they were pressing a cloth to his face, stemming the flow of blood streaming from his nose. "Sam! Are you okay?"He recognized the voice of the bartender.

"M'fine," he mumbled. He sat back on his heels and took the cloth from her. Holding it to his nose he asked, "What happened?"

"I heard you shouting from inside the bar. You were calling for Dean."

He allowed his sense to catch up with him. He was outside the bar, and he had drawn a crowd of curious onlookers.

"I'm calling an ambulance," one of them said, pulling a phone from her purse.

"I don't need an ambulance," Sam said quickly. He pushed himself to his feet and pulled away the cloth. The blood flow had ceased now, though he still felt shaky.

"You were having some kind of fit," the bartender said. "I think you need a hospital."

Seizing on her explanation, he nodded. "Yeah, it's a type of epilepsy. Very rare. I'm fine now though. I really don't need an ambulance."

The woman who had pronounced his need for one eyed him skeptically, still holding her phone in her hand.

"I really am fine," Sam said, forcing a smile. "I just need to clean myself up."

"Come back inside," the bartender said. "You can use the bathroom."

Pleased to have an excuse to get away from the crowd, Sam followed her in and went into the bathroom she directed him to. He stared at wadded up some toilet paper and held it under the tap and then blotted the blood from his face. He had pulled the stitches on his injured hand and blood had seeped through the bandage.

He examined his reflection in the mirror. The blood was gone, improving his visage considerably, but there was a haunted look in his eyes that was going to be hard to explain away. They were also bloodshot, but that could be explained away from his earlier breakdown. All in all, there was nothing that would give away this latest episode to Dean or Bobby.

Sam knew what he had seen wasn't a hallucination but a memory. Along with memories of past hunts, he was now seeing his time in hell. He now understood what Dean had been talking about when he was explaining that he remembered his own experiences in hell. There were no words, and there was no forgetting. Sam'd only had a glimpse of that time, and it was enough. He didn't want to remember more. It was no wonder he had lost his mind. Hallucinations of Lucifer sounded like a walk in the park in comparison.

Someone tapped on the door. "You okay in there, Sam?" It was the bartender.

He took one last look into the mirror to make sure he presented a reassuring picture and opened the bathroom door with a smile. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure? I think you should see a doctor."

Sam shook his head. "I just need to take my medication, and I will be fine." He eased himself around her and headed for the door.

"Sam?"

Sam turned to look at her. "Yes?"

"You're going to tell your brother about this, right?"

Sam nodded and smiled reassuringly. "Absolutely."


	28. Chapter 28

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta'ing this and for all her help and encouragement through the writing process.**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

Dean and Bobby heard the rumble of the Ford coming along the dirt track that led to the cabin. They exchanged a glance, and Bobby smiled knowingly.

"Told ya he'd be back."

Dean stiffened. He was hugely relieved that his brother was back, but now he was faced with another problem. What the hell was he supposed to say to him?

Bobby saw Dean's discomfort and leaned over and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "He's feeling the exact same way. Just talk it out. And I do mean talk, not the usual nodding and ignoring you Winchesters normally do. I'll give you some privacy."

"No, stay," Dean said. "You're a part of this, too."

Bobby smiled and sat back on the couch. He was pleased to be asked to stay. Though he thought of the boys as his own, sometimes he felt like he was on the outside looking in. Like the time Sam had taken a tumble in the hospital and Dean hadn't thought to call him. Times like that frustrated him.

Out in the drive, Sam pulled the car to a stop and paused for a moment to check himself over in the rearview mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, but the blood had been cleaned from his face in the bar's bathroom. He thought he could easily pass for someone who had spent the afternoon drinking rather than someone who had just had a full on hell leak sprung in their brain.

He climbed out of the car and made his way up the steps. The door was still open and he could see Dean and Bobby watching him from the couch. He stepped inside the door and his boots crunched the glass from the broken beer bottles. The bag of groceries was still on the floor where it had fallen. He bent and picked it up, dropping it into the sink.

"Sam, leave that for a minute," Bobby said. "Come here and talk to us."

Sam paused in his task and stared out of the window over the sink. He knew he needed to face them, but he was scared they would know what had happened just by looking at him. Dean especially had a way of knowing telling when Sam was hiding something.

"Sam, please," Dean said softly.

Sam gripped the side of the counter for a moment and then turned on his heel to face them. Dean flinched, as if he expected Sam to dive right into another diatribe against him. Sam saw him flinch, and it made him feel guilty. He noted the bottle of whiskey on the table, and he guessed Dean and Bobby had passed their afternoon in a similar way to him. Thinking a little more alcohol couldn't hurt, he picked up a third glass from the cupboard and poured himself a measure as he sat down.

Turning the glass in his hand, he took a deep breath before speaking up. "I shouldn't have left like that."

"No, Sam. You didn't do anything wrong," Dean said immediately. "I shouldn't have said the things I did."

Sam shook his head. "I know it's hardwired into you to defend me, but you have to give it up, Dean. I was out of line, and I should have stayed to talk it out. I just needed some time to think."

"And some time to drink from the look of you," Bobby noted.

Sam shrugged. He was glad that Bobby and Dean were apparently blaming alcohol for his disheveled appearance.

Bobby leaned across the table and poured himself and Dean a glass of whiskey. He picked up his glass and sipped the amber liquid.

"So," Dean said awkwardly. "I guess we need to talk."

"There's something I need to say first," Sam said, leaning forward and bracing his hands on his knees. "I lost two years, but I don't feel like I have. To me, Lucifer was only a few months ago. I'm the same man I was then. Whatever happened to me in the last two years… Well, I have a feeling that would have changed me. But that's not who I am now. I am still the guy that almost ended the world."

"You're the guy that saved the world," Dean interrupted.

Sam nodded. "Be that as it may, I'm still him. And that's why I'm not going to stop hunting."

"It's not safe!" Dean said, trying to rein in his temper. He couldn't believe Sam was being so stubborn about this.

"I know that," Sam said. "I know that better than anyone, but I can't stop. I have to atone for what I did, and that means hunting. I get that there's a risk, and I'm prepared to live with that."

"We're not," Bobby said brusquely.

Sam looked at him apologetically. "It's not your choice. It's not either of your choices. It's mine, and I have made my decision."

Dean rubbed at the back of his neck. "Sam, you don't understand the risk here."

"I do," Sam said simply. "Believe me, I know. I don't want to hurt myself, I don't want to hallucinate Lucifer, but as much as that scares me, quitting now scares me even more. I saved the world you say. That's great, but I don't _feel _it. I only know that a lot of people died because of me, and I have to do something to try and make up for that. Hunting is the only thing I know that can do that."

Dean looked into his brother's earnest face and knew there was no persuading him otherwise. Sam felt this way knowing he had almost ended the world. If he knew about the body count he had racked up soulless, it would be even worse. Dean would do anything to protect him from those memories, but there was nothing he could do to stop him triggering the memories. He was determined.

"Okay, Sam," he said. "You want to hunt, we'll hunt."

"You don't have to," Sam said. "Either of you. This is my choice. You are both free to decide what you want to do."

"Well, I'm hunting," Bobby said immediately. "I've been too many years in the life to stop now. Besides, Sam's right. There's always something to atone for, and hunting is the only way I know to even start to do that."

Sam knew that would be Bobby's answer. He looked to Dean. He was the unknown quantity in the room.

"You sure you want to do this, Sam?" he asked.

"It's the only way for me."

"Then I'm hunting too. There's no way I'm letting you go it alone."

Sam frowned. "That's not what matters. This needs to be your choice. What you want. You can't keep doing things for me."

Dean didn't know how to respond to that. His whole life was directed around Sam. It had been since the moment his father had put baby Sam in his arms and told him to get outside. He had been cast as Sam's protector that day, and he wasn't about to give that up now.

"I'm hunting," he said resolutely.

Sam smiled at him. "Okay then."

* * *

Dean's one stipulation on continuing hunting was that they stayed away from leviathans. Sam agreed after some persuasion. As Dean rightly said, this time it wasn't their turn to save the world. There were plenty of other hunters doing to job in their stead.

Bobby had decided to stick around a little longer, to keep an eye on Dean and Sam. He stayed in contact with the leviathan situation, though, and was prepared to head back to Chicago if there was a breakthrough.

Sam spent the next week searching down cases on the laptop. There wasn't much other than the missing person story he had stumbled upon in Pinedale, and that turned out to be a teen runaway that was found hiding in a bus depot.

In lieu of new cases to work, Dean worked on fixing up the cabin. There was a ton of maintenance work that needed doing. Sam had been initially confused by the fact his brother knew so much about home improvement, but Dean explained he had worked construction in the time after Sam went to hell. Sam pushed for more information, wanting to know what had happened to his brother in that time, but Dean was tightlipped about it. He could do nothing about his brother's determination to hunt, but he could control how much he told him about the missing years.

On the seventh day after their argument and the revelations that followed, Sam was working at the laptop when he stumbled across a case for them to follow. He quickly read through the news pages and coroner's report he had found through more nefarious means. Clapping his hands together excitedly, he went outside to find his brother.

Dean was working on the roof, repairing and replacing the wooden planks that formed their shelter. He was enjoying the work; it was simple and allowed his mind to wander.

"Dean, come down here a minute," Sam called up to him.

Dean descended the ladder and wiped his sweaty forehead with an old rag. "What's up?"

"I found something," Sam said with ill-concealed excitement. "In Belgrade."

"I know you're gunning for the hunt again, Sammy, but I don't think we need to go as far as Serbia to track one down."

"You know where Belgrade is?" Sam asked with a quirked brow.

Dean gave him a wounded look. "I'm not a heathen, Sam. I do watch the news."

Sam waved an airy hand. "Never mind that. This is Belgrade, Montana. It's a short drive out of Bozeman."

"That's close," Dean noted. "Why haven't we seen anything on the local news?"

"Because they're being clever."

"Who are being clever?" Dean asked.

"Vampires. At least I think so. There have been a couple of cases reported as accidents that don't ring true. A car crash that left a person drained of all blood with serious neck trauma. An animal attack that was reported the same. And a couple of missing persons over the last couple of weeks that haven't turned up anything yet."

"Could be runaways," Dean said reasonably. "And an actual car crash and animal attack."

Sam shook his head. "The coroner's report said the injuries were all caused postmortem, and did I mention the blood? We're not just talking a little blood loss; we're talking full on drained. Like a fat kid with a Slushie."

Dean frowned. He wasn't sure he wanted to go after a vampire after their last fanged hunt had left him with a set of his own. Of course Sam knew nothing about that hunt, and he couldn't know either.

"What's the problem?" Sam asked.

"Nothing," Dean said quickly. "I'm fine."

Sam was sure that something about this hunt had triggered something in Dean, but he didn't question him further. "So are we hunting vamps?"

"We'll give it a look," Dean said. "If you're right, and we're sure they're vampires, we'll break out the machetes again. We'll wait for Bobby to get back from town before we set out though. If we're going after a nest, we're going to need his help."

Bobby got back an hour later, and he had brought them lunch from the small diner in town. They sat at the table to eat and Sam filled him in on their prospective case.

"You think they're covering up their kills with accidents?" he asked and Sam nodded. "Great, smart vamps. That's all we need."

Dean nodded dourly. He wasn't looking forward to this hunt. Vampires were a huge potential trigger for Sam of his soulless months. If he remembered, not only would be have to suffer through the pain of the memory, he would have the guilt of his soullessness to cope with, too. Dean would have liked to avoid the hunt completely, but he knew Sam would never agree. He would say innocent people were dying, and he would be right.

* * *

They arrived in Belgrade late that evening, and Dean pulled the car to a halt in front of the Sandman Suites Motel. Despite its promising title, it looked like every other dive they had stayed in. Sam went to book them into a room, while Dean and Bobby unloaded the car.

Taking advantage of the short privacy, Bobby spoke up. "You going to be alright for this?"

"You mean 'cause the last time I took on a vamp hunt I ended up as one while my brother watched?" he asked. "Yeah, I'll be fine."

Bobby gave him a sympathetic look. "We don't have to follow through with this. I can call in a favor and get someone else to take it on."

"Nah, I'll be fine," Dean said. "Sam'd never let us duck out on this one anyway."

"He would if we explained what happened."

Dean shook his head curtly. "We can't. If he knows what happened, best case scenario is that he feels guilty."

"And the worst?"

"The worst is that he'll remember. I can't watch him go through that again."

"It might happen anyway," Bobby pointed out. "This is one heck of a trigger to be dropping on him."

"What do I do?" Dean asked plaintively. "I can't shield him from it all, not when he's so determined to hunt. Besides"—he rubbed his chin—"I understand where he's coming from. I had my demons after what I did in hell. I understand wanting to make amends."

Sam came out of the motel office, effectively ending their conversation. "I figure we get settled in and then hit the morgue," he said.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Why don't we wait till morning? We've got out fed badges. We can go in legit. Or as legit as we ever get."

Sam smiled. "Because even legit feds aren't allowed to siphon blood out of the corpses. We need dead man's blood if we're going after vampires."

"Oh, okay. I didn't think of that," Dean admitted.

"And while we're there, we can get a look at victim number two. The animal attack guy. He should still be on ice. His funeral's not for a few days."

"You really did your homework," Bobby said, sounding impressed.

"I did," Sam said with a nod. "You don't want to be going after vamps without preparing."

"No," Dean mumbled. "We wouldn't want that."

They let themselves into the respective room and piled their duffels on the bed before heading out to the car again.

"You want to drive, Sam?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head. He wasn't going to risk driving again when he could have a hell leak at any moment. It just wasn't safe.

Dean shrugged and got in behind the wheel.

The drive to the morgue wasn't long, and soon they were pulling up in front of the small building. It was cast in darkness, showing that it was closed for the day.

Sam was first out of the car, eager to get started. He made his way over to the rear door. He tested it and found it was locked. He pulled his lock pick out of his jacket pocket and set to work picking the lock. It was a simple lock and it only took him a minute to get the door open.

"Security just isn't what it used to be," he said with a smile.

Dean rolled his eyes. His brother seemed to be enjoying himself a little more than was appropriate given the situation. Most people didn't find their jollies breaking into a morgue. Then again, his brother wasn't most people.

They walked through a dim corridor and through a dull grey door. On one wall was a bank of steel fridges.

Sam picked up a clipboard on the table and read aloud. "Matthew Brighton. He was the animal attack." With a smile, he pulled open the door marked with the victim's name. "Let's see what's behind door number two."

Dean rolled his eyes. "You're enjoying this way too much, Sam."

Sam grinned. "Just having a little fun in the workplace."

Bobby ignored the both of them and pulled back the sheet covering the victims face, examining the neck carefully.

"Do we have a winner?" Sam asked hopefully.

"Yeah, we're going after vamps all right." He pointed to the marks on the either side of the neck. "These look like bite marks to you?"

Dean peered around his arm. "Dammit," he cursed. There was no mistaking the bite marks. They were definitely hunting a vampire, or more than one. There were two bite marks, as if the victim had been a shared meal.

Sam pulled a mason jar out of his duffel and slid open another of the steel doors, easing out a second body.

"What are you doing?" Bobby asked.

"Getting the blood." His tone indicated that it was obvious. "That guy's running on empty and we need enough to take down at least two vampires."

He took his penknife from his pocket and made a slash on the wrist of the body. With no pulse to pump the blood, the blood seeped through the cut sluggishly. When Sam had filled the jar he pushed the sliding tray back inside and closed the door.

They made their way back out of the building and Sam wedged the door closed with a brick. "Don't want the door hanging open and drawing suspicion," he said in response to Bobby's curious look.

Dean wasn't paying attention to Sam and Bobby's exchange. He was deep in thought. They were going after vampires again. He had a sick feeling in his stomach that it was going to end badly, and there was nothing he could do about it.


	29. Chapter 29

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta'ing this and for all her help and encouragement through the writing process.**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

Sam jerked awake in the early hours of the morning, panting and drenched in sweat. He'd had a nightmare, but it was no ordinary nightmare; he was pretty sure it was a memory of hell leaking through.

He felt a warm trickle under his nose. He wiped at his face and found blood coating his fingertips. Cursing quietly, he threw back the bedclothes and made his way into the bathroom. He sat on the closed toilet lid and held up a balled up piece of toilet paper to his nose.

Another memory of hell and another nosebleed. His head was thankfully not hurting, though. When he was sure the bleeding had ceased, he splashed cold water over his face and made his way back to his bed.

Dean rolled over as he sank down onto the mattress, and he opened one eye to look at Sam. "You okay, Sam?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Sam said lightly. "Go back to sleep."

Dean opened both eyes and examined his brother. His instincts told him Sam was lying. He pushed himself up to a sitting position. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Sam said. "Just had a strange dream."

"It wasn't another memory was it?" Dean asked in a concerned tone. He was worried that the vampire hunt had triggered something already.

"No," Sam lied. "Nothing like that."

Dean lay down again and buried his face in his pillow. If Sam wasn't going to be honest with him, there was nothing he could do about it.

* * *

The next morning, Sam, Dean, and Bobby went to the small diner opposite the motel for breakfast.

Sam was tired and sluggish after his night of broken rest, and he only picked at his breakfast.

Bobby and Dean noticed his morose mood, and they wondered about it. Contrary to the previous day's enthusiasm for the hunt, Sam now looked like he could pass a vampire on the street and not care.

"Everything okay, Sam?" Bobby asked.

Sam looked up. "Hmm?"

"I was asking if you're okay, but you just answered that question for me. You want to talk about whatever's going on in that head of yours?"

Sam shook his head. "I'm fine. I just didn't sleep too well." He pushed away his plate. "I'll be right back." He got out of the booth and headed for the bathroom.

Bobby turned to Dean. "So, what's going on?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know. He woke me up in the night saying he'd had strange dreams, but that's all he said."

"You think it's more memories?" Bobby asked in a concerned tone.

"He said not." Dean rubbed at his tired eyes. "I don't know, Bobby. Something's up with him, but he's not talking. If it was more memories, it was an easier episode, because he didn't look like he was in pain."

Bobby nodded thoughtfully. He thought Sam would tell them if he was remembering things, but he couldn't deny there was something wrong with him. The way he looked this morning was eerily akin to the same cloud of depression he had become familiar with when Sam was in the hospital. He couldn't believe Sam had sunk into a depression overnight, but there was definitely something wrong.

In the bathroom, Sam stared into the grimy mirror above the sink and examined his reflection. He looked miserable. No wonder Dean and Bobby were casting him wary glances when they thought he wasn't looking. He would be worried, too. He forced his lips into a smile but decided that looked fake. Concentrating on hiding his scowl, he decided he could pass for normal. Musing on the difficulty of hiding things, he stepped out of the bathroom and went back to their table.

"I think we're looking for newcomers," he said as he sat down. "The missing persons and the two bodies I read about have only happened in the last few weeks. Maybe if we ask around town, we can find something out."

Bobby nodded. "I'll get suited up and go by the local PD office."

Sam nodded his acceptance. "That's cool. You make a better cop than us anyway."

Dean looked up at that. "I make an awesome cop."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Real cops don't say awesome so much."

Dean saw the eye-roll as a positive sign that Sam was doing better, and he grinned. "What are we going to be doing while Bobby is playing fed?"

"We can take to the streets, act as prospective residents looking for information on the area."

"Awww, man, I hate doing that. People always think we're gay."

"We can go separately," Sam suggested. If they weren't together, he could relax and drop the act for a while. "I can take one side of town, you take the other."

Dean shrugged. "Fine by me, as long as there's a bar on my side of town."

"Dude, it's nine-am."

"And by the time I get round to the bar it will be twelve, a perfectly acceptable time to have a drink."

Sam didn't think much of the plan, but he wanted to be alone more than he wanted to take care of his brother's liver.

"How's about we all meet back here at one and see what we've got," Bobby suggested.

Sam nodded his agreement and stood up. He dropped a pile of bills down on the table to cover their breakfast. "I'll see you guys here at one," he said with a forced smile.

Dean watched him go and smiled. After the rocky start to the morning, Sam seemed to be doing better. Bobby wasn't convinced, and he was already hatching a plan to get Sam on his own so they could talk properly.

* * *

In the end, Sam and Dean didn't have much to do, as Bobby lucked out at the police station. The desk sergeant was discussing a case of squatters with his friend when Bobby came in. He introduced himself and pretended interest as Officer Kensington expounded on his troubles.

"It's the old family place," he said. "We were all raised on that farm, and now some kids think they have the right to take up and live there."

"When did they arrive?" Bobby asked in a politely interested tone.

"A month ago. First I heard about it was old man Cunningham coming calling me up and asking if I'd rented the place out. I wouldn't mind renting it if they offered some cash. I've got a heck of a mortgage and the wife's expecting our third. Come to think of it, that was the last time anyone saw Cunningham. He went and disappeared the next day." He looked thoughtful for a moment, and then shook his head, dismissing the thought. "Damn squatters have rights they tell me."

"Well, that's a heck of a tangle you've got there," Bobby said in a consoling tone. "Where is this farm? Maybe I could go by and speak with them."

"You'd do that?" Officer Kensington said hopefully. "Maybe a fed will scare them off."

"Absolutely. I'd be happy to help."

The officer wrote down the address of his farm and handed it to Bobby. "I sure am grateful, Agent Steinhardt. What did you come in for anyway?"

"Oh, I was just checking in while I'm in the area," Bobby lied. "I better head out now. See what I can do about your squatters."

Waving to the unfortunate man behind the desk, he made his escape, musing on the grim intellect of the local law enforcement. No wonder the vampires had picked this town to settle down.

When he got out of the station, he pulled out his phone and sent off a text to Dean and Sam asking them to meet him at the motel.

An hour later, the three of them were back in the motel, and Sam was handing around the coffees he had bought on the way back.

"So, you got the goods?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, a hapless cop at the local station has a case of squatters on the old home place. Sounds like our guys."

"Awesome," Dean said, grinning as Sam smiled slightly. "We better get on down there and check this place out then. Daylight's wasting."

Bobby frowned. "We could wait till morning; give us the best amount of daylight we can get. They sleep during the day, but they don't sleep _all _day."

Dean frowned. He wanted to get the hunt over and done with. The sooner the vampires—and therefore the triggers—were faced, the better in his opinion.

"I think Bobby's right," Sam said. "It's better to strike at dawn when they're sleeping."

Dean nodded his reluctant agreement. "Okay. First thing in the morning, then. The sooner we start with the head chopping, the sooner we can get out of here. I don't like this town. The bars don't open early enough."

* * *

The next morning, just before dawn, they pulled the car over at the edge of a long dirt track leading to the farm. They didn't want the sound of an engine to wake the vampires, so they were going the last half mile on foot.

"Remember, we're not sure these aren't real squatters here," Bobby said. "No one start swinging until we see fangs."

"We got it, Bobby," Sam said impatiently. He had his machete ready and he was eager to get swinging. He had slept soundly the night before, and his mood had improved exponentially. He was ready and eager for the hunt now. The bad mood of the previous day was forgotten.

He strode off along the dirt track and Bobby and Dean hurried to follow him. They had noted Sam's good mood, and while they were both pleased to see it, it made them even more sure that there had been something really wrong the day before. Unbeknownst to each other, they were both planning to sit Sam down later and have a serious talk with him. They just had to get this hunt out of the way first.

When they reached the farm, they came to a stop.

"Where do you think they'll have holed up?" Bobby asked. "The house or the barn?"

Sam and Dean exchanged a look and answered in unison. "The barn."

They were remembering the first time they came up against vampires, back when their dad had been hunting with them. The vampire's back then had created a nest in an old, abandoned barn.

They walked over to the barn, and Sam peeked through a crack in the wooden siding. He could see vague shapes in the darkness.

Dean and Bobby looked at him expectantly and he nodded. "I think we've found the place."

He pulled his machete out of its sheaf and raised it threateningly. "We ready?"

Dean nodded and put his hand on the door. "One…two…" He threw the door open and rushed inside.

There were no vampires. Rusted farm equipment was stacked against the walls and on the floor were three people, obviously dead. Bobby knelt beside one and turned it over. It was an elderly man, with a bite mark on his neck. He was pale and pathetic looking in death.

"I think we've found old man Cunningham." Bobby sighed.

"Well, at least we know we're up against vampires," Sam said.

Dean nodded. "But they're not here."

"It's not a problem," Bobby said. "There's still the house to search."

He led them out of the barn and up to the house. Peering through a grimy window, he said, "Got 'em."

Dean and Sam moved to the window and looked inside. There was a couple curled up on the floor, fast asleep together.

The crossed the porch and Dean knelt in front of the door to pick the lock. It clicked open and they stepped inside. The hall was shadowy, as the only source of light was the grimy windows.

Bobby opened a door into what would once have been a handsome lounge and stared at the two figures on the floor. They were a young couple, at least physically. There was no way of knowing how old they really were.

Dean and Sam exchanged a glance and they each raised their machete at the same time. In a synchronized movement they each swung their blades down in smooth strokes and decapitated the vampires. They jumped back to avoid being hit by the streaming blood coming from the necks.

"I'll take the ground floor," Sam whispered.

Dean nodded. "I'll take the second."

"I'm with you," Bobby said to Dean. "And for god's sake, be careful."

They crept up the stairs, exchanging wary glances. At the top of the stairs was a corridor with multiple doors leading off it. Dean pointed to the first door and Bobby nodded his agreement. Easing it open, they peered around the door. It was empty. Dean huffed a laugh as the adrenaline faded. He had been prepared for the attack, and instead he got an empty room with god-awful wallpaper.

"Lucas? Is that you?" A female voice called from behind a door further along the hall.

Dean cursed inwardly. They vampires were awake. That had just made their job a lot harder.

The door opened and a woman appeared around the door. She was wearing shorts and a tank top, and if she wasn't undead, Dean would have said she was hot. She caught sight of Dean and his bloodied machete and she shrieked in rage. "Hunters!"

"Okay, now introductions are over, let's get to it," Dean said, raising his machete and stepping towards the woman.

Sam watched as Bobby and Dean disappeared out of the door. He kicked away the heads of the vampires they had already killed and made his way out onto the hall again. There were four doors leading off the hall, and he would need to check each of them before moving onto the next.

He started at the first door and eased it open. There was another sleeping couple in here. With a practiced swing, he brought the machete down on the neck of the male vampire and severed its head. The female awoke with a start and stared down in horror at the remains of her partner. She didn't even seem to notice Sam as he raised his machete, preparing for the killing blow. A moment later, her head joined the male's on the floor.

Then an unearthly shriek rent the air. "Hunters!"

Surmising that Dean and Bobby had been noticed, Sam turned his back to the wall and prepared to defend himself.

The door swung open and a shirtless male raced in. He paused as he saw Sam, and then his fangs descended, and he prepared to strike.

"I know you!" Sam said, forgetting for an instant that he was supposed to be killing not chatting. "Eli!"

It was that had snatched him years ago. He had been part of Lenore's nest, the nest that slaughtered animals rather than people. Sam was momentarily worried that they had attacked a nest of friendly vampires, then he remembered the bodies in the barn and he stiffened.

"Hunter!" Eli said in a low growl. He looked at the remains of his friends of the floor and snarled.

Sam tightened his grip on his machete and stepped away from the wall. He put his hand in his jacket and pulled out a syringe of dead man's blood. If he couldn't get close enough to use the blood, he would resort to the blade, but he didn't want to. The Eli he remembered hadn't been interested in human blood, and he wanted to know what had changed.

He lunged forward with his machete, and Eli dodged back. He caught Sam with a blow to the chest, and the breath was knocked out of him. He dropped to the floor and allowed himself to lie still as he waited for Eli to make his move.

Eli savored the moment as he saw Sam fall to the floor, stunned. He knelt slowly and examined the Sam. He thought about changing him, too, making the wound and allowing his own blood to flow. He thought a vampire with the instincts of a hunter would make an interesting companion.

He was so fixated on his plan that he didn't notice the Sam's arm snap out and plunge the syringe into his bicep. He felt the effects of the blood, though, and he fell back as the lethargic affects swept through him.

Sam got smoothly to his feet and smirked at the fallen vampire. "Never trust a hunter playing dead," he said with satisfaction.

He surveyed the vampire at his feet and considered. He was curious about what had turned Eli back to hunting humans, but he was also concerned about Dean and Bobby. There was a lot of noise coming from the upper floor of the house. Without regret, he swung his blade through the air and sliced of Eli's head.

Upstairs, Dean and Bobby weren't faring as well as Sam. They were each facing a vampire, and they had been backed into a corner. They hadn't bothered with dead man's blood. They weren't interested in speaking to their attackers; they would be satisfied with killing them.

Bobby swung his machete, and it impaled itself in the arms of one of the vampire facing him. It howled with pain and leapt back. Bobby managed to keep a grip of his machete and he raised it ready for another blow.

The female lunged at Dean, and he caught her mid leap with the machete at the neck. With a sick squelching sound, he pulled it through the flesh and bone, tearing away her head. Enraged by his friend's demise, the male vampire lunged at Dean, but Bobby was already in motion. His blade sliced through the air and through the vampire's neck. It fell to the floor with an anticlimactic thud.

Sam was coming up the stairs when he caught sight of the vampire at the end of the hall, creeping up on Dean and Bobby.

"Look out!" he shouted.

The vampire charged forward, bearing down on Dean. It knocked him to the floor and bowed its head over Dean's neck.

Sam lurched forward and prepared to kill the vampire when it happened again. There was a tug in his mind and a blinding pain in his head. He knew what was going to happen a second before it did. His knees buckled and he hit the floor as his eyes darkened and he lost consciousness.


	30. Chapter 30

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta'ing this and for all her help and encouragement through the writing process.**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-One**

Dean saw the vampire leaning over him and his mind was transported back two years to the last time he was in this position. Then, his brother had watched as he was turned, this time his brother was coming to save him. Except something was wrong. As he looked up, he saw Bobby's face as he tackled the vampire and knocked him away from Dean. Dean sprang to his feet and picked up his fallen machete. The second Bobby pulled away from the vampire, Dean swept his machete through the air and decapitated it.

He turned to Bobby with a grin curving his mouth, which faltered as he saw Bobby's horrorstruck expression. He turned slowly and his heart sank at what he saw.

Sam was lying at the top of the stairs, exactly as he had fallen, with one hand flung out as if reaching for something and the other trapped underneath him. More concerning than his position was the fact that there was a fine trickle of blood coming from his right ear.

Dean froze in place, staring at the scene as an outsider. Bobby was the one to regain his faculties first. He raced forward and dropped to his knees beside Sam. He pressed his fingers to the side of Sam's neck and sighed with relief as he felt the thrum of life against his fingers.

"Sam! Can you hear me?" He tapped his face gently, and then pinched the lobe of Sam's ear. Sam didn't respond.

Dean's paralysis broke and he dropped to his knees beside his brother. He patted Sam's cheek. Sam's head lolled against the floor. "No, Sam, don't do this. Come on, man. Not again. Wake up!"

"Dean! Go get the car. We need to get him to a hospital," Bobby commanded.

"Ambulance!"

"We can't," Bobby said. "This place is chock full of vampire bodies. It'll do Sam no good if he wakes up in a police cell. Go get the car."

Dean didn't want to leave his brother, but he knew he would be able to get to the car faster than Bobby would. He cast his brother a look of longing and then raced down the stairs and out of the door.

Bobby took off his jacket, bundled it into a ball, and placed in under Sam's head.

"It's okay, boy," he said softly. "We're going to get you to the hospital, and they'll fix you right up."

Bobby checked his watch. Sam had been unconscious for five minutes now. Far too long for comfort. None of the other memory leaks had knocked him out like this, nor had they made him spout blood from the ears. Bobby wasn't a doctor, but he had comprehensive medical knowledge and he knew that it was a seriously bad sign.

"You just hang on, Sam. Just a little longer."

Dean was used to running. His vocation as a hunter meant that he was often running towards or from danger, but he had never pushed himself as fast as he did getting to the car. His breath came in pained pants and gasping heaves as he ran. He was so focused on getting to the car he didn't notice the tears streaming down his face.

He skidded to a halt as he reached the car. He yanked the door open and threw himself inside. Gunning the engine, he tore up the dirt track leading to the house. He pulled the car to a stop as close to the door as he could and jumped out of the car.

He took the stairs two at a time and dropped down beside his brother again. "Is he okay? Did he wake up?"

"No change," Bobby said. "You get the car?"

"Yeah, it's outside. How are we going to get him out there?"

"With great difficulty," Bobby said, getting to his feet and easing his hands under Sam's shoulders. "You take his feet. Go slow, and for god's sake, don't drop him."

Dean had never needed Bobby's instructions less. Everything about his brother screamed fragile.

As they lifted him, Sam's head lolled back. Dean felt sick looking at him like that, so he turned behind him and kept an eye out for absent obstacles on the stairs.

With care, they got Sam down the stairs and into the car. They eased him onto the back seat. Dean wanted to sit with his brother, but there was no room for him, so he had to satisfy himself with turning in his seat and holding a hand on his brother's chest to stop him rolling off the seat as they turned corners.

He wanted to ask Bobby what he thought was wrong with his brother, but he was scared of the answer. He didn't know much about medical matters, but he knew bleeding from the ear was a bad thing, as was Sam's continued unconsciousness.

If it was another memory leak, it was a bad seriously bad one, and Dean could only guess at what Sam had remembered this time.

* * *

Jane Haralson was dealing with a drunk that had sliced up his arm breaking into his own car when the call came through for emergency staff to the trauma room. Grateful to be free of her truculent patient, she pulled off her gloves, tossed them into the trash, and made her way to the trauma room.

When she stepped through the glass doors, she got a shock as she recognized the patient as John Smith.

A man was fighting against an orderly, and she suspected that it was the brother that had caused such a stir on the third floor.

"Get your hands off me!" the man demanded. "That's my brother!"

"Sir, if you can just calm down and tell us what happened," the doctor in charge was saying. "We can't help him until we know what happened."

An older looking man was standing behind the brother and he was trying to calm him down.

"Sir," Jane said, addressing the older man. "Do you know what happened?"

"He just collapsed," he said. "He was fine."

"Did you see him hit his head at all?" The doctor asked.

"He might have when he fell; I didn't see. I don't think so, though. What's wrong with him?"

The orderlies succeeded in wrestling the brother out of the room, and the older man stared after him.

"Does he have any allergies that you know of?" Jane asked.

"No, none." The man scrubbed his hand through his short beard. "He was a patient here a couple of months ago."

The doctor behind Jane called out for assistance, and she looked apologetically at the man. "You'll need to leave now, sir. I will come find you if there's any news."

She watched him walk out of the room as if on autopilot, and then she turned her attention to the patient.

"Okay," the doctor said. "What do we have here?"

"We've got bleeding from the nose and ear canal," an intern said.

"His airway's clear," another voice called out. "And we have a steady pulse."

"How's his ox stats?" the doctor asked.

Jane checked the monitor. "Ninety eight."

The doctor nodded his approval. "That's good. So why is our patient unconscious?" Though he meant it as a rhetorical question, two intern's hands flew into the air, eager to share their theories.

Jane turned her attention back to John Smith. He was lying on the gurney, oblivious to all that was happening around him. He was a handsome man, Jane thought. As she stared at him with an assessing eye, she noticed something wrong. His face was out of balance.

She cleared her throat and addressed the doctor. "Does his face look odd to you?"

The doctor examined his patient, and pulled back an eyelid. "I'll be damned," he said in a breathless voice. "Someone call down to radiology. This kid needs a MRI."

"What is it?" one of the interns asked.

"I think this kid's had a stroke."

* * *

Dean paced the length of the waiting room and then turned and came back to stand beside Bobby. "What's taking them so long?" he demanded.

"I don't know," Bobby said gently. "They'll tell when there's something new. We know he's gone for a scan. That's something."

Dean huffed and walked the length of the room again. He was frantic with worry, and he wanted nothing more than to be with his brother. It had taken two orderlies to wrestle him out of the room, and he hadn't come back to himself again until he was forced into a chair in the waiting room. He realized that the more people fighting him, the less there were helping Sam, so he had sat back in his chair and prepared himself for the long wait.

He'd been patient up until an hour ago when a nurse had come out to tell them they were taking Sam to have a scan. She either hadn't known more or she wasn't prepared to say more. For whatever reason, they hadn't had any more information since then.

Dean dropped into a seat opposite Bobby and he clasped his hands between his knees. Closing his eyes, he broached the topic they had both been avoiding. "Do you think it was hell?"

Bobby sighed heavily. He had been thinking about this since he sat down, and he could think of no other explanation. Whatever Sam had remembered this time—and he was sure it was a returning memory that had knocked Sam out—it was bad. "I think so. I can't imagine anything else bad enough to do that to him."

Dean raked a hand through his hair. "What are we going to do, Bobby?"

"We do whatever it takes to look after him," Bobby said. "If we're right, and he's got a head full of hell again, he's going to need us to be strong for him. He came through it once; he can do it again."

"He didn't come through it, though," Dean said. "He was living with… you know who for weeks."

"And he was handling it," Bobby said reasonably.

Dean buried his face in his hands. Sam was handling his hallucinations, but he shouldn't have had to. It shouldn't be a positive that he could tell the difference between real life and hallucinations. How did things go so wrong? Dean honestly thought that if Castiel was in front of him in that moment, he would have slugged him.

The door at the far end of the spacious waiting room opened, and Dean recognized the newcomer. He and Bobby shot to their feet and crossed the room.

"Doctor Saunders, you have to help," Dean said breathlessly. "It's… my brother"—Dean refused to call Sam by his fake name—"Something happened to him."

"I know," Doctor Saunders said. "I heard. What have they told you so far?"

"All we know is that he's been taken for a scan," Bobby said. "We're waiting for news."

"I'll go see what I can find out." She patted Dean's arm. "He's a fighter, Dean. Remember that."

Doctor Saunders strode down the halls of the hospital in the direction of the radiology suite. She was eager for news of John Smith, and not just because she had grown fond of him as a patient, but because she was worried it was an oversight in his previous care that had caused this problem. He had signed out against medical advice, so the hospital couldn't be held liable, but that didn't mean she herself was free of guilt if it was her fault.

When she came to the radiology wing, she let checked the board for John Smith's name, and then entered the MRI scanner's observation room. The doctor in charge turned at her entrance, and then smiled welcomingly. "Christine, what can I do for you?"

"Your patient, John Smith, he used to be one of mine."

"Yes, I heard about him. He's the one that caused so much ruckus on the ER a few months ago."

Doctor Saunders nodded. "He was a car crash victim. I had him on the wing for weeks. How's he doing?"

"We think he'd had a CVA," the doctor said. "He was showing weakness on his left side."

"A stroke! But he's so young."

"Films are just coming up now," the radiologist said interrupting them.

They all turned their attention to the screen. Doctor Saunders felt a sinking sensation in her stomach as she looked at the screen.

"I was right," the doctor said. "A clear bleed on the right hemisphere. It's small, though. Won't need surgery." He looked closer at the screen. "Look at all those lesions, though. That must have been one heck of a car accident he had."

Doctor Saunders shook her head and swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. "Those aren't from the accident. I saw his MRI shortly before he checked out. This…"—she rallied for a word—"damage is all new."

"What the hell has this kid done to himself?" The doctor asked.


	31. Chapter 31

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta'ing this and for all her help and encouragement through the writing process.**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-One**

Dean and Bobby had been waiting for another hour before Doctor Saunders came back to them. As they saw her come through the door, they both jumped to their feet.

"How is he?" Dean asked immediately. "Did you see him?"

"I saw John, and he's doing well all things considered. He's showing signs of waking, and he's being moved up to the third floor again."

Dean raked a hand through his hair. The third floor meant the ICU, and ICU meant it was bad.

Doctor Saunders saw Dean's distress and hurried to reassure him. "It's not the same as before, Dean. He's breathing on his own, and like I said, he's showing signs of waking now."

"What happened to him?" Dean asked.

"We believe John has had what we call a cerebovascular accident."

"A stroke?" Bobby gasped.

Dean looked like he had been punched in the gut. "He had a stroke? Like old people get?"

Doctor Saunders nodded apologetically. "I'm afraid so. The good news is that the bleed was small, and we won't need to operate to clear it."

"And the bad news?" Bobby knew enough about strokes to know that there was more bad news coming.

"As it was a bleed in the right hemisphere, it has affected his left side. John is showing weakness on the left. There may be paralysis."

Dean sank back into a chair and buried his face in his hands. His eyes welled with tears, and he fisted them away. "I want to see him."

"Of course," Doctor Saunders said. "He will be in his old room again. I'll come up with you. I am supposed to be on the wing, too."

They crossed the room quickly and went to the bank of elevators. Doctor Saunders pressed the button for the third floor and they waited. As the doors opened, Dean swept in, pushing past two people trying to exit, and tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for Bobby and Doctor Saunders to get in. He was desperate to see his brother again, and he was sick of the delays.

When the doors opened onto the third floor, Dean jogged along the corridor and into Sam's old room. For a moment, he had to stop to catch his breath as he looked at his brother. His skin was almost as pale as the sheet that covered him. There was a cannula threaded under his nose, and an IV in the back of his right hand. He looked terrible.

A hand rested on Dean's shoulder, and he turned to look into Bobby's eyes. A sob built in his throat and he swallowed against it. He crossed the room and stood at his brother's side.

"Hey, Sammy," he said softly.

Sam's eyes opened and he turned his head to look at his brother. He licked his lips and tried to speak, but his voice seemed to have deserted him.

"You want a drink?" Dean offered.

"I'm afraid he can't just yet," Doctor Saunders said behind him. "We need to perform a swallow test."

"What's that?" Bobby asked.

"People in Sam's condition can sometimes have problems swallowing. We need to check that before we do anything else, or he may choke. I'll send a nurse in."

Bobby nodded to her and watched as she swept out of the room. When she was gone, he moved to stand beside Sam's bed. "Well, you've certainly outdone yourself this time, Sam," he said.

Sam tried to smile, and Dean and Bobby saw the true cost of this episode for the first time. The left side of his face was lax whereas his right side was tense with emotion.

Dean gulped. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. His brother, who had been fine only a few hours ago, now looked off balance and ill.

Sam lifted his right hand and touched his face. He could tell something was different, and as he touched his cheek, he shuddered. The skin against his hand felt soft and loose; there was no tension beneath it. He traced his hand down his left shoulder to his arm, and he felt the same looseness. He tried to fist his hands, but all he could manage on his left side was a weak grasping movement.

Tears filled his eyes and tracked down his cheeks.

Dean saw the tears roll down his brother cheeks, and he reached out and gripped his shoulder. "Hey now, Sammy. You're going to be fine. The doctors will fix you up like new."

Sam shook his head shakily, and the tears came faster.

There was a knock at the door, and Beth came in. She looked like she had been crying recently. "John," she said softly. "I'm here to do your swallow test. Do you feel ready, or would you like some more time?"

Sam tried to speak, but his throat felt desiccated, and he couldn't manage to get any volume. He nodded instead.

Beth pressed the controls on the side of the bed, and the back rose so Sam was in a sitting position. She poured a glass of water from the jug on the table and produced a spoon from her pocket. "Okay, John, I'm going to start with a teaspoon of water."

Sam nodded and opened his mouth. Beth trickled the water into his mouth and he swallowed convulsively. The water felt good against his throat.

"That's great," she said enthusiastically. "Ready to try a glass?"

"Ready," Sam said in a hoarse whisper.

Bobby sighed with relief at hearing Sam's voice, albeit in a whisper. He knew that stroke victims sometimes lost the ability to speak. He was glad that wasn't a hurdle Sam would have to overcome. He had already had enough to contend with.

Beth handed him a glass of water and he lifted it with his working hand to his mouth. The water went down easy, and he drained the glass.

"Well done," Beth said. "I see you're having no trouble swallowing. I'll let Doctor Saunders know."

She gave Sam a small, slightly sad smile and left him alone with Dean and Bobby. Sam watched her go and then turned his attention to Dean who had one hand covering his face. He looked on the verge of tears.

"I'm okay, Dean," Sam lied. He was feeling far from okay, but he knew he brother didn't need to hear the truth.

"Yeah," Dean nodded vigorously and sniffed, "you're doing great."

"What happened?" Sam looked to Bobby for an explanation.

"What do you remember?" Bobby asked.

Sam frowned at the loaded question. What he remembered was a lot. More than he wanted to remember.

When the attack had hit, he'd been cast into darkness, but the darkness wasn't peaceful for long. He had been overwhelmed with images and voices, all of which he was sure were memories. He had seen things he didn't think were possible, and he saw himself doing terrible things. He now understood why Dean and Bobby were so dead against him remembering. If he had known what it would unleash, he would never have been so cavalier about hunting.

It had been seeing the vampire bearing down on Dean that had triggered it. The memory of him watching it happen miles away and years ago hit him. He had stood and watched as his brother had been changed into a vampire. He remembered killing a woman that a vampire was using as a human shield. He remembered hunts with Samuel, his grandfather, and the people and monsters he had killed in what his mind rationalized as the line of duty. He couldn't believe the number of people he had hurt, and he couldn't understand how he could have become so cruel. The memories had no regret attached to them from that time, through they had plenty now. What had been wrong with him?

He remembered Castiel and what he had done; he'd broken something in Sam, something that was supposed to protect him from his memories of hell. He remembered seeing Dean again, but there was a contradiction there. There were two memories. In one, he was in a dark room that looked like a warehouse in that memory there was no emotional attachment, just a sense of a job well done. In the second memory, he was in Bobby's library, and he remembered the wave of joy he felt at seeing his brother again after so long. He remembered the peace he had felt as he had embraced Dean, knowing that the pain was over.

And hell… He remembered hell. The voices that taunted. The hands that had probed and pushed. The wealth of weapons that had ripped and torn and impaled and burned, weapons beyond imagining that had hurt him for so long.

He remembered all that and more, but there were parts that didn't make sense to him. He was still missing something.

"Sam? You okay?" Bobby asked. Sam had evidently been silent too long.

"I remember the vampire about to hurt Dean and then I collapsed," he said.

"Anything else?" Dean asked suspiciously. When Sam looked away, he went on. "Dammit, Sammy, we know you remembered something, so what was it? The cage?"

Sam nodded and another tear tracked down his face. "I remember it all. I remember what I did to you both." He choked out a sob. "But I don't know why I did it." The tears began to fall in earnest, and Sam looked away to spare himself the shame of looking into his brother's eyes knowing what he had done to him.

Dean pulled a chair over and sat beside his brother. He reached out and gripped his arm. "Stop that, Sammy. It wasn't your fault."

"How can you say that?" Sam asked, fisting away his tears. "I watched you get turned. I tried to kill Bobby. How can you say that's not my fault?"

"It wasn't you," Bobby said softly. "Not really."

Sam looked at him blankly, and Bobby understood that the memories were incomplete. Of all the things to have been left out, it had to be the fact that Sam was soulless at the time of those crimes.

"You weren't you, Sammy," Dean said. "You…" He raked a hand through his hair, trying to think of a way to explain in to his brother. He took a deep breath. "Castiel brought you back, but he brought you back wrong. Your soul was left in the cage. For eighteen months you had no soul, no emotions, no conscience to guide you."

Sam looked stunned. "I lost my soul!"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. You weren't yourself till you got it back. It's not your fault."

Sam shook his head as the thoughts rolled over him. He couldn't understand how, even without a soul, he could have done those things to people he loved.

"I'm sorry," he said eventually. "To both of you. For the things I did…" He sighed. "I have no words."

"We forgave you a long time ago," Bobby said softly. "Like your brother said, it wasn't your fault."

Sam looked into the older hunter's face and saw no deception there. Bobby truly forgave him for what he had done.

"So, you remember it all?" Dean rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "You remember what I did?"

"Amy?" Sam questioned and Dean nodded. "Yeah, I remember."

"I'm sorry I lied to you," Dean said in a heartfelt tone.

"But you're not sorry you did it," Sam said.

Dean shook his head. "I wish I could say I was. I'm sorry for what happened because of it, but I'm not sorry for killing her."

Sam thought for a moment. His brother had forgiven his for allowing him to be turned into a vampire. Sam couldn't hold a grudge for what to Dean's mind was the obvious course of action in killing Amy.

"I forgive you," he said with a weak smile that only affected half of his face. "If the situation was reversed, I would probably have done the same."

Dean sighed with relief. Since the moment Sam had walked away from him all those months ago, he had fretted over what he had done. Though he knew it was the right thing, he hated that he had lied to his brother. Because of that stupid lie, so much had happened.

The door opened and Doctor Saunders came in. "I'm sorry to interrupt," she said, seeing their tense expressions, "but I need to talk to John."

"I'm staying," Dean said immediately, crossing his arms over his chest.

"It's okay, Dean," Sam said quietly. "Go get some coffee or something." He wanted to know what had happened to him, though he already had an inkling of suspicion, and he wanted to be able to react to that information without worrying about his brother seeing him upset.

"Are you sure?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded. "It won't take long, will it, Doc?"

Doctor Saunders shook her head. "I'll come find you when we're done."

Reluctantly, Dean and Bobby walked out of the room, leaving Sam and the doctor alone.

"Okay, John. I'm sure you have a lot of questions, and that's why I'm here."

Sam asked his most pressing question. "What happened to me?"

She sighed. "You have suffered what we call a cardiovascular accident. Its common name is stroke."

"I've had a stroke?" Cold horror twisted Sam's gut. It was what he had feared.

"I'm afraid so, and there's more. Has anything happened to you since you left the hospital? Have you been involved in any accident?"

"I've been remembering things," he said vaguely. He couldn't explain that he had been experiencing flashes of hell and memories of hunting supernatural creatures.

The doctor tapped at her chin with one well-manicured finger. "That's good news, I suppose."

"You suppose?" Sam asked. "What else is wrong with me?"

"I saw something on your scan that troubles me," she said. "There are lesions on your brain that we can't explain. They weren't there when you had your last scan. A lesion is like a scar. It shows that there has been damage done, but we cannot pinpoint a cause."

"How many?" Sam asked, an idea occurring to him.

"Three large ones and multiple smaller ones," she said, thinking that it was an odd question to ask.

Sam nodded thoughtfully. Three large lesions from the three attacks and smaller ones from the nightmares of hell. It was the only explanation he could come up with. His memories were hurting him. He had suspected there would be some price for the attacks he had suffered as the memories had returned, but he had thought the blinding headaches and nosebleeds were enough. Apparently, he was wrong.

"Do you know something, John?" she asked suspiciously. "If you know what's causing these lesions, we can help you better."

Sam shook his head. "No, I don't know anything else."

"Okay. Now we need to talk about your prognosis." She looked uncomfortable.

"It's okay, Doc," Sam said, taking pity on her. "I know I'm screwed."

"There is always hope for recovery," she said encouragingly. "We will arrange for Peter to come back and assess you and an occupational therapist. You're not without hope. Some stroke sufferers regain full use of the damaged side. You have age on your side."

Sam looked down at his useless arm, and sighed. "And how many people don't regain any use in their damaged side?"

"It varies," she said. "There is no hard and fast rule."

Sam looked away. He didn't think he could handle any more. All that had happened was catching up with him, and he was realizing the dire nature of his situation. "I think I'd like to sleep now," he said.

"Okay, John." She patted his hand. "I'll be back in to check on you later. Your brother and uncle are going to have a lot of questions; would you like me to speak to them for you?"

Sam nodded. He didn't think he could have coped with hashing it all out again for Dean and Bobby's benefit. He knew how bad his situation was, and he didn't think he could bear to see Dean's reaction as he heard the news.

When the door closed behind the doctor, Sam turned to look through the window and allowed the tears he had been withholding throughout their conversation to fall.


	32. Chapter 32

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta'ing this and for all her help and encouragement through the writing process.**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Two**

The family room door closed behind Doctor Saunders, and Dean and Bobby stared at each other in shock. They had just spent half an hour listening to the doctor's explanation of Sam's condition and prognosis.

They had heard how he could recover fully, back to his previous condition, but they had also heard that he could stay exactly the same as he was now. He could bounce back, or he could need a personal caregiver for the rest of his life. One thing seemed sure, he would likely never hunt again.

The very best case scenario was that Sam would get back to normal again, but that would be after months if not years of physical and occupational therapy. After fighting so hard to get back on his feet, Sam had been knocked on his ass again.

The worst-case scenario, which had been explained in devastating detail, was that Sam could have another stroke and die. He was susceptible to them now.

Dean hid his face in his hands and bit back the groan of misery that wanted to escape him.

"Dean," Bobby said gently.

"I don't want to hear it, Bobby. I don't want to hear that he's going to be fine or that he's a fighter. My brother has just had a stroke for crap's sake! He's never going to be fine again!"

"That's not what I was going to say. I was going to say that we should go back to Sam now. He needs us."

Dean sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. "I know. I know he needs us…"

"But?" Bobby probed.

"But I don't know what to say to him."

"You don't need to say anything. You just need to be there."

"I'm not sure I can." Dean didn't think he could look into his brother's eyes, knowing all he knew, and remain composed. What he wanted to do was trash the room, venting his rage at the unfair situation. Why did it have to be Sam? Why, after all he had been through, did this have to happen to him? Why was he stuck in a hospital bed again, facing weeks if not months of therapy to get him back on his feet?

Dean tried not to think of it, but the warning the doctor had given them about further strokes replayed in his mind. Dean couldn't have got his brother back from hell just to lose him to this. He had to do something.

"Mackey!" he said suddenly.

"What about him?" Bobby asked, confusion furrowing his brow.

"The healer!" There was a fanatical gleam in his eye. Here was the solution to all their worries. They could get Sam to this guy and he could heal him right up. No physical therapy, no renewed bleeding or whatever else the doctor had been talking about; this would cure it all.

Bobby's face transformed from lines of sadness to a wide smile. "Of course!" He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it himself.

"Do you know where the healer is?" Dean got to his feet and began pacing the small room.

"I only know he's in Colorado," Bobby said. "I'll call him up and get the details." He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed up the number for Mackey. Dean leaned in close so he could hear both side of the call.

"Hey, Bobby. You on your way back?" Mackey asked.

"Actually, no, I'm calling for a different reason," Bobby said apologetically. "I need the rundown on that faith healer you found."

"Emmanuel?" Mackey said in surprise. "What do you need him for? I thought the Winchester kid was back on his feet."

"He was, but there's been a complication. I really need that info, Mack."

"Okay." There was the sound of ruffling paper in the background. "His name's Emmanuel Allen, and he's at 1523 Orchard Road, Springfield, Colorado."

Dean immediately pulled out his phone and checked the address on his route planner. It was a thirteen-hour drive from Bozeman.

"Thanks, Mackey. I appreciate this more than I can say," Bobby said. "And I'll be back with you as soon as I can. I just have to see this through first." Bobby couldn't leave Dean and Sam until this was taken care of. They needed him, and he needed to be with them for his own peace of mind.

"Sure," Mackey said. "You take care now."

They exchanged goodbyes and Bobby hung up the phone and then turned to Dean.

"So, Emmanuel, huh."

"He could be called Lucifer for all I care," Dean said. "As long as he can fix Sam, I don't care what he's called."

Bobby smiled. "You ready to go back to your brother?"

Dean nodded vigorously. Now he had some good news to share, he was eager to be at his brother's side.

He swung open the door and passed along the hall to Sam's room. As he passed the nurse's station, he caught Beth's eye, and she gave him a sympathetic smile. He nodded to her and tried to hide his own wide smile, knowing it was out of place for the situation as she saw it.

Sam was lying with his eyes closed when Dean and Bobby entered. He turned to look at them as they entered and his face pulled into a lopsided smile. "Hey."

Dean pulled a chair up beside him and leaned forward. "How are you feeling, buddy?" he asked.

Sam shrugged awkwardly. "Like I had a stroke." Dean grinned, and Sam looked at him quizzically. "What's up?" He didn't understand Dean's excitement.

"We've got good news, Sammy. Bobby's buddy Mackey has tracked down a faith healer."

Sam shook his head jerkily. "No, Dean. No reapers. Not again."

Dean smiled. "No reapers involved. This is the real deal. We had it lined up for you before, but then you woke up, and we didn't follow it up. Now, we need him."

An inkling of hope kindled in Sam. "The real deal?" He needed a guarantee before he would agree to anything.

"The real deal," Bobby confirmed. "Mackey checked him out fully."

Sam breathed out a gust of relief. "When do we leave?"

"You're not coming, Sam," Dean said. "I'll go get this guy and bring him here."

"I'm coming." Sam fixed Dean with a steely glare. "Or it's not happening."

Dean returned the look. "No you're not."

"Let's hear him out," Bobby said. "Why do you feel you need to come, Sam?"

"Because if I am stuck in this hospital bed I will honestly lose my mind. I can't do it, lie here and wait for help to come to me."

"It's not safe," Dean said. "The doctor said…" He trailed off. He didn't know if Sam was aware of just how precarious his health was. He could have another stroke or the bleed he already had could worsen.

"I could die," Sam said softly. "I know that. I'm still coming."

"Why does this matter to you so much?" Dean asked. He didn't understand Sam's determination. He understood that he didn't want to be in the hospital, but that didn't feel like the whole story. He had the distinct suspicion he was missing something.

"Because if it's going to happen, it's going to happen wherever I am. I don't want to be lying in a hospital bed when it does." He wanted to be with Dean and Bobby when it happened. Where he belonged. He had lived on the road, and if his time was coming, he wanted to die on the road, with his brother. He wasn't suicidal, far from it, but he knew what he wanted should his time be up. "If you want me on board with this, you'll take me with you. Either way, I'm not staying here."

"You going to check yourself out AMA again?" Dean rolled his eyes.

"Yes," Sam said simply, "I will. I've told you Dean, I'm not staying here."

Dean scowled at his brother. He recognized that determined set to the jaw, and he knew that there was nothing he could say that would change Sam's mind.

"Okay," he said eventually. "But if we're doing this, we're doing it right. Give me a few hours, and then I will help you bust out."

"What are you planning, Dean?" Bobby asked.

"I just need a few hours," Dean said, getting to his feet. He patted Sam's hand. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

Sam nodded and watched him go. Bobby hurried out after him and grabbed his arm. "Whatever you're doing better be good," he said. "Since you're leaving your brother behind."

"It's worth it," Dean said with certainty. He shrugged off Bobby's arm and hurried down the hall to the elevators.

* * *

Sam was woken from a fitful sleep in the early afternoon. He had been dreaming of hell, and he wondered if there was a new lesion in his brain now. He didn't care to think much about it. He would hopefully be with the faith healer soon and all this would be a nasty memory. And if he didn't make it to the healer… Well, he had given it his best shot.

"You okay?" Bobby asked when he saw Sam stirring.

"Yeah. Dean not back yet?"

"No." Bobby sighed. "Don't suppose you've got any idea where your damn fool brother has gone."

Sam shook his head tiredly. "There's no way of knowing with Dean." A horrible idea occurred to him. "You don't think he's gone after this healer on his own do you?"

Bobby shook his head. "No. He wouldn't do that to you. Not now he knows how much it matters to you." He eyed Sam shrewdly. "You going to tell me why?"

Sam picked at a loose thread in the sheet. "It doesn't really matter."

"It clearly matters to you. So spit it out."

"I don't want to die in a hospital, Bobby," Sam said so quietly Bobby had to strain to hear.

"You're not dying, boy. You're going to be fine." Bobby couldn't consider the alternative. He was clinging to the fact Sam was awake and talking to him, rather than accepting the fact he was still in danger. He had to be strong for both his boys.

Sam smiled sadly. "Maybe, maybe not. You know that, Bobby. What Iknow is that whatever happens, live or die, I want to be out there with you and Dean and not in a hospital bed. I don't belong here."

"You belong on the road," Bobby finished for him. He felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. "I'll be right back. I just need some coffee." He jumped to his feet and hurried from the room.

Sam watched him go, and he felt a pang of guilt. All he seemed capable of doing lately was hurting the people he cared about. Not for long though, one way or another, it would all be over soon.

He wasn't alone long before there was a knock on the door and another familiar face peeked in.

Sam smiled in greeting. "Peter."

"John Smith," Peter said. "I'd say it's good to see you, but that would be a lie." He frowned. "I hear you've been through the wars again."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I guess I have."

Peter sat in Bobby's recently vacated seat and clasped his hands on his knees. "Okay, so how much do you know about what's happened to you?"

Sam focused all his effort on raising his left hand. It lifted from the bed by about three inches and shook. "I know I've got a way to go," he said. "But I think it's better if I'm honest with you from the jump. I'm not sticking around this time, Peter. As soon as my brother gets back, I'm out of here."

Peter leaned back in his seat, looking at Sam incredulously. "You're kidding, right?"

Sam shook his head. "Not this time."

"John, you have to understand, you need to be in here. You have a long haul of physical therapy ahead of you."

Sam shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you, Peter. I'm not staying."

"Why?" he asked imploringly. "You stand a good chance of regaining use of your arm and leg if you work it, but if you leave here without doing any therapy, you're going to waste that chance. We need to get you up and working now."

Sam looked at him apologetically. "My decision is made."

Peter stood up and headed towards the door. "Then I'm not going to waste my time trying to change your mind."

"I'm sorry, Peter," Sam said. "I am so grateful for all the help you have given me. I would never have got back on my feet last time if it wasn't for you. But this time, I have to go my own way."

Peter cast him one last look of exasperation and then disappeared around the door. Sam knew that Doctor Saunders would be in soon, Peter wouldn't stay quiet, so he prepared himself to do battle again.

Bobby came back first though. Sam explained what had transpired between him and Peter.

"I bet that went down like a lead balloon," Bobby said with a sigh. "Let's get you up and going then. Your brother called; he's going to be here soon."

Sam pulled back the sheets with his right hand and swung his legs round so he was sitting on the edge of the bed. Bobby helped him out of the gown they had dressed him in and into a pair of sweats and a zipped hoodie.

Sam's left leg proved a little more cooperative than his left hand. It moved at will but felt a little weak. He knew walking was going to be a problem, but he didn't have far to go.

Sam was just zipping up his hoodie when the door opened and Doctor Saunders came in.

"John, I hear from Peter that you are planning to leave us," she said in an airy tone.

Sam nodded. "You heard right."

She visibly sagged. "You can't do this."

"I can," Sam said simply. "I am of sound mind and am able to make my own decisions. I'm not a danger to myself or others, so you can't keep me here."

"You are _in _danger," she said. "You could have another bleed at any moment. If you are here in the hospital…"

"If I am here in the hospital, what?" Sam asked. "I'll be closer to the morgue. If I have another bleed, it could kill me. That will be true whether I'm here or halfway down the highway."

"If you are here you will have the best possible care available."

Bobby raised an eyebrow, thinking of all the failings in Sam's care the last time he was here.

"Is that it?" she asked. "Are you going to another hospital? Because if you are, we can arrange an ambulance to transport you."

Sam seized on the excuse. "Yes. I'm going to Sioux Falls General. My uncle lives up there, and we want to be close to home."

Doctor Saunders was not convinced. "You're going to Sioux Falls General?"

"We are." Bobby nodded briskly. "We're grateful for all you've done for John, but we'd feel better closer to home."

"I'll have to arrange for copies of your files be sent to the hospital," she said thoughtfully.

Sam nodded. "That's very good of you." It didn't matter to him if Sioux Falls got a copy of the files of John Smith. It could become a mystery for them to puzzle over.

"Would you like me to arrange an ambulance transfer?" she asked.

"No thanks," Sam said. "I'd feel better in our own car. If you can just get me a wheelchair so I can get to the exit, that'd be great."

"There are some in the hall," she said.

Bobby disappeared out of the door and came back a moment later with a wheelchair. Sam shuffled to the edge of the bed, and using Bobby's shoulders to steady his, he pushed himself to his feet. His left leg felt clumsy and weak, but it supported him as he stood. He turned carefully and dropped into the wheelchair.

Bobby looked on sadly as Sam struggled. He couldn't believe that Sam was back to this after all his hard work getting back on his feet. Not one to dwell on then negative, he cast away the thought and bent to help Sam get his feet on the footrests.

When he was settled in the chair, Sam looked up at Doctor Saunders and smiled. "Thanks for all you've done. I really appreciate it." He held out a hand to her and she shook it.

"It's been a pleasure to know you, John. You take care of yourself."

"I will."

Bobby turned the wheelchair and steered it out of the door.

Doctor Saunders caught his arm as they passed. "If you care about John, you will make sure he gets to that hospital fast," she said.

"Don't worry," Bobby said. "We're going to get him exactly what he needs."

They made it to the elevators and down to the lobby. Bobby settled Sam inside the doors and then went out to wait for Dean.

The first thing he heard was the familiar rumble of an engine, and then a sleek black car pulled up in front of him. Dean climbed out, smiling triumphantly.

Bobby frowned in confusion. "I thought this was on lockdown."

"I busted her out." Dean ran a hand across the bonnet lovingly. "It's good right."

Bobby waved his hands in a despairing gesture. "What were you thinking?"

Dean frowned and leaned in close to speak. "I heard what that doctor said; Sammy could die. If that happens, I want it to be in the only home he's ever known. Not some crappy stolen Ford."

Bobby looked at Dean and he allowed himself a small smile. Dean knew exactly what Sam was thinking, and he'd done his best for him. And for Sam, the best was the Impala.

* * *

**Yes, Cas is on his way. I know some of you have been waiting for this for a long time, and I'm sorry it has taken so long for him to come into the story. This is the only way the story would allow me to write it. **

**Special thanks to all of you that are still reading. I know this story has become a monster. It's almost over though. There are two more chapters and an epilogue to come now. **

**CoM x **


	33. Chapter 33

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta'ing this and for all her help and encouragement through the writing process.**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Three**

Dean sat back in the seat of the Impala and lovingly ran his hands over the wheel. It felt good to be back in his baby. He looked sideways at his brother. Sam was leaning his head against the window, watching the landscape rolling past. Dean could only see his brother's face in profile. From this angle, it was impossible to tell there was anything wrong with Sam. It was only when you saw him face on that the physical price of what had happened to him was clear.

Sam felt Dean's eyes on him, and he turned and smiled. "You okay?" he asked.

Dean smiled in return. "I'm pretty sure it should be me asking you that."

"I'm fine," Sam said easily. It was the truth. He was doing good. It felt to good be back in the Impala, eating up the miles beside his brother. The only thing stopping the scene from being perfect was the fact they were racing towards a faith healer instead of a hunt.

"Does anyone care about me?" a moody voice asked from the backseat.

Sam turned and grinned. "You okay, Bobby?"

"I'm sore," Bobby said grumpily. "Are we stopping for food?"

Dean scowled at Bobby through the rearview mirror. They had only been on the road a couple of hours, and he wanted to keep going. The sooner they got to this Emmanuel, the sooner Sam would be fixed. As it was, he was worried they wouldn't get there in time. Sam seemed fine at the moment, but he was essentially a ticking time bomb. He could stroke out at any minute.

"I could eat," Sam said. He sensed his brother's disquiet and wanted to make it easier for him. He knew Dean was worried—hell, he was too—but whatever was going to happen would happen anyway. Stopping for a burger wasn't going to change that.

"Fine," Dean said. "We'll stop in Billings.

Billings was the city Dean and Bobby were in when they got the call about Sam being in the hospital. In remarkable symmetry to that day, they came across the same diner, too. Dean's mind passed back through the months to that day. He remembered the horror he had felt when hearing about Sam's accident, and the guilt that he hadn't been there. A lot had changed in a few short months and little of it was for the better.

If Dean had not let Sam walk away that day, none of this would have been happening. Sam would never have got into the accident. He would never have had amnesia, and the memories wouldn't have torn his mind apart the way they were now.

"What's up?" Sam asked, nudging Dean's arm.

"What? Oh, nothing," Dean lied. "I was just thinking."

Sam would have liked to say something to comfort his brother, but he didn't know what. He guessed he was the source of Dean's deep thoughts, and he wished he knew what to say to make it easier for him. All he had to offer was empty words through. He didn't know what was going to happen to him any more than Dean did.

Bobby swung open the passenger door and stood waiting with Sam's old and despised cane in his hand. "You think you're up to a walk?" he asked.

"I'm damn well going to try," Sam said.

He turned awkwardly and clung to the doorframe as he pulled himself to a standing position. He took the cane from Bobby and leaned heavily on it. The first step was the hardest, as he didn't know whether he would be able to make it. His left leg felt numb and sluggish, but it supported his weight and he was able to shuffle into the diner.

Dean swung out a chair for him at the first table they came to, and Sam sank gratefully into it. Bobby took the seat beside Sam, and Dean sat opposite. Sam struggled to pick up the heavy menu one-handed, and Dean reached across to lay it open on the table for him.

Sam's eyes wanted to well at the simple gesture, but he held the tears back through sheer force of will. He was frustrated that he needed help for something so simple. He reminded himself that it wasn't for long. They only had to get to Colorado and he would be taken care of.

He perused the menu, looking for something that he would be able to eat one-handed without looking bad. He decided on a salad, thinking he could manage with the fork alone.

A waitress with a nametag saying Becky came to their table with a notepad and pen in hand. "What can I get you guys?"

Dean smiled at her as he placed his order—his usual burger and fries—and snapped the menu closed.

She nodded and jotted down his order, and then she turned her attention to Sam. "And you?"

Sam turned to smile at her, and he saw the realization dawn in her eyes as she got a proper look at him. To her credit, she hid her shock with a smile, but it took her a moment. Sam got a good look at her stunned expression first.

"I'll have the garden salad, please," he said stiffly.

She nodded and flashed him a wide and entirely false smile.

Sam looked down at the table, hiding his shame as Bobby placed his own order and the waitress bustled away.

"Sammy," Dean said softly. He wanted to comfort his brother, but like Sam before him, he didn't know the right words.

"It's okay," Sam said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm fine."

"You will be," Bobby said bracingly. "This time tomorrow, you'll be fighting fit again."

The thought occurred to Sam that this might fail. What if the faith healer wasn't able to heal him? This wasn't any normal stoke. It had been brought on by memories of hell. It wasn't something the healer could never have encountered before.

"What is it?" Dean asked, seeing his brother's suddenly dark expression.

Sam shook his head. "Nothing."

"Sammy…"

"It's nothing, Dean."

"Are you in pain?" Bobby asked, and Dean tensed.

"No," Sam sighed. "I was just thinking. What if this doesn't work? What do we do if this healer can't help me?"

Dean shook his head jerkily. "It will work." He couldn't bear to consider the alternative.

Bobby looked from Dean to Sam, and he considered Sam's words carefully. He understood Sam's fear, as he had been in that position himself. After he'd been landed in a wheelchair, he'd been relegated to running the phones for other hunters and being Sam and Dean's research guy. It hadn't been a bad way to live, but not had it been the life of a hunter.

Sam looked at Bobby and he knew exactly what his future would be if this thing didn't work out the way the hoped. He would end up stuck in the cabin, holding the phone for Dean and Bobby while they went on the real hunts. It wasn't the worst way to live. He would at least be useful.

* * *

If they kept driving throughout the night, they would have arrived in Springfield in the early hours of the morning, far too early to call on this Emmanuel. They pulled over at a motel in the small town of Byers, on the outskirts of Denver, around midnight.

Bobby went to book rooms from the sleepy clerk, and Dean helped Sam out of the car. He was exhausted and it took a lot of wrangling to get him out of the car, and he had to lean heavily on Dean to remain upright.

Bobby came out with their room keys, and he shouldered their bags while Dean helped Sam to shuffle into the room. When they got in, Sam dropped gratefully onto the edge of the bed. Bobby dropped his duffel beside him and then bid them both goodnight.

Sam unzipped his hoodie and pulled it off. He struggled with his useless left arm, but eventually he managed it. He pulled a t-shirt out of his bag, and then paused. He wasn't going to be able to manage this alone.

Dean was distracted locking up the room and rooting through his own duffel, but he looked up at Sam's exasperated huff. "What's up?" he asked.

"I need help," Sam said dourly.

Dean swallowed. Despite the fact the doctor had said Sam could need a personal caregiver if he didn't improve, Dean hadn't given it much thought following that meeting. He had been distracted by everything else that followed in the race to get to Emmanuel. He could see that Sam was embarrassed to have to ask, but Dean was pleased that his brother was actually admitting he needed help rather than struggling.

"Okay, what do you need me to do?" he asked, standing in front of Sam.

"It's this." Sam patted his useless left arm. "I can't thread it through the sleeve."

Dean took the t-shirt from Dean and eased it over Sam's left arm. It felt strange to touch his arm. It felt different now. There was no tension beneath the skin; the muscles were lax. With difficulty, they managed to get the t-shirt onto Sam.

"You need help with your pants?" Dean asked.

Sam looked at the floor. He was mortified. "I just need help to stand. I can do the rest myself."

Dean helped his brother to stand and supported him as Sam shucked off his pants. Sinking gratefully back onto the bed, Sam turned and allowed himself to drop against the pillows.

"Thanks, Dean," he said quietly.

"No problem." He pulled the covers over his brother and then turned to get himself ready for bed. He didn't hear the quiet sob or see the tears streaming down Sam's cheeks.

* * *

Dean went out to get them breakfast in the morning, and Bobby and Sam sat quietly at the table. Bobby wanted to talk to Sam, but the younger man seemed deep in thought.

Sam was thinking of the direction his life had taken over just twenty-four hours. He had been fine the day before. More than fine, he'd been killing vampires. Now, he was down the use of one arm and had a gimp leg. He'd needed Dean's help to get dressed again that morning and—mortifyingly—to get in and out of the bathroom.

He didn't think there was much he wouldn't give to turn the clock back one day. He wouldn't go on the vampire hunt. He would never hunt again if that was what it took to keep him whole. The thought he kept coming back to was that he'd been warned. Dean and Bobby had told him not to hunt, but like a puling child, he had thrown a fit, believing he knew best. It was true that none of them could have envisaged him having a stroke, it was ludicrous, but they had known something would happen; he should have listened.

"You okay, Sam?" Bobby asked.

Sam looked up and his expression told Bobby all he needed to know. Of course he wasn't okay. He was living a nightmare.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Sam opened his mouth to speak, to say he would sooner go up against the devil again than talk about the crap-storm that his life had become, but the words wouldn't come. He looked into Bobby's knowing eyes and the floodgates opened.

"I'm scared, Bobby. I know Dean doesn't want to talk about it, but what if this is my life now?"

Bobby scrubbed a hand through his beard and leaned his elbows on the table. "Then you'll live it. I won't pretend I know how you feel, because I don't. But I will tell you that you _can _live it. You're stronger than even you know, and you can do this."

Sam patted his useless left and scowled. "I don't feel very strong."

Bobby nodded knowingly. "But you are. Besides, it's too soon to be thinking about this. There's a good chance this Emmanuel will be able to fix you right up. You'll be back to working order in no time."

"What if…?" he trailed off. He didn't want to voice his deepest fear.

"What is it?" Bobby pressed.

Sam shook his head. The thoughts he wasn't sharing was what if the healer couldn't work because this was his punishment for his crimes. He had done a lot wrong in his life. He had hurt a lot of people, murdered some even. It didn't matter that there were extenuating circumstances a lot of the time. Demon blood, soullessness, the need to protect other life. He had done bad. What if this was God's punishment for him?"

The door swung open and Dean came in brandishing a paper sack and a tray of coffee. He looked from Bobby to Sam and knew he had walked in on something important. Sam looked on the verge of tears.

"I brought breakfast," he said stupidly.

Sam sniffed and pasted a smile onto his face. "Excellent. I'm starving."

Dean opened Sam's package of pancakes for him and produced the spork he had finagled from the diner. He figured it would make it easier for him to eat one-handed. Not that he would mind cutting Sam's food for him, but he knew Sam would mind. With only a few hours to go until the healer could work his mojo, Dean wanted to make it as easy on his brother as was possible.

They ate in relative silence, each lost in thought of what was to come.

When they had finished their meal, they packed up their rooms and headed back out to the car. Sam crossed the small distance to the car with the aid of his cane. He dropped into the passenger side of the car and leaned back against the seat. They were almost there. Just a few more hours and he would know the truth one way or another. He would either be healed or would be stuck like this forever, or until he had another stroke. The thought of another stroke killing him didn't upset him as much as he knew it should. He was fast running out of fight.

Dean climbed in behind the wheel and gunned the engine. "You ready for this, Sammy?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," Sam said with a forced smile.

They pulled out onto the road and began the journey towards what would hopefully be salvation.

Sam stared out of the window as they drove, watching the tree lined roads give way to fields. It was a beautiful place he thought. If things went their way, they could stay in the area for a while. If not, it wouldn't matter where they were.

The fields gradually disappeared as they drew closer to Springfield. They came into streets lined with houses. Sam directed them through the streets from the pathfinder app on his phone. They came to a street lined with attractive houses, with lush green lawns and flowerbeds.

"Which one's ours?" Dean asked.

Sam checked the house numbers and pointed to a light yellow house at the end of the street.

Dean pulled the car to a stop and turned in his seat. Bobby leaned forward, resting his arms on the back of the seat.

"How do you think we should do this?" Dean asked. "Do we just go knock at the door?"

"Seems a might stupid not to," Bobby said with a smile. "We came all this way, after all."

"Maybe we should have called first," Sam fretted. Now he was so close to the moment of truth, he was nervous.

"Well we can't just sit here all day," Dean said, throwing open the door. "I'm going to go knock."

"Hold on," Sam said. "Someone's coming out."

The door to the house opened and a figure stepped out. His face was cast in shadow from the porch. He stepped forward and raised his head to the sky, as If basking in the bright sunlight of the morning.

"Holy hell," Bobby breathed.

Dean just gaped at the man. He couldn't believe his eyes.

"Guys," Sam gulped, "I think I'm hallucinating again."

Bobby shook his head. "If you are, I am, too."

"You see him, too?" Dean asked in a tremulous voice.

Bobby blinked and looked again at the man he believed to be Emmanuel. "Yeah we do. That's Cas."


	34. Chapter 34

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta'ing this and for all her help and encouragement through the writing process.**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Five**

"What do we do?" Dean gabbled. "What the hell do we do?"

"I say we start by not panicking," Bobby said. He sounded calm enough, though he felt anything but.

"Okay. Good. No panicking." Dean raked a hand through his hair. "I can do that. But what the hell do we do?" He looked across at his brother. Sam looked extraordinarily pale. "You okay, Sammy?"

Sam nodded mutely. He was stunned by what he was seeing. He couldn't believe the angel he had thought was dead was alive, well, and living in Colorado. He didn't know how to feel. This was Castiel, his friend, but also the man who had broken his mind and set this snowball rolling to begin with.

On the porch of the house, Castiel came down the steps and walked to his mailbox. He collected his mail and waved a greeting to a neighbor who was doing the same. He walked back along the path and into the house, out of sight.

As he disappeared, Dean sighed heavily. "That was definitely him, right?"

Bobby scrubbed a hand through his beard. "Well, it's hard to tell without the trench coat, but it definitely looked like him." No one smiled at his small instance of humor. They were busy trying to wrap their minds around what they had seen.

"What do we do?" Dean asked once again.

"I guess we go in there and see what's what," Bobby said.

"We're just going to walk up there and ask him for help!" Dean said incredulously. "After all he did!"

"Unless you know of some other faith healer," Bobby said reasonably. "The way I see it, it's our only option."

"Sam, what do you think?"

Sam shook his head slowly. "I don't know what to think."

Dean looked at his brother. He could be wrong, but he thought he saw a tear welling at the corner of Sam's eye.

"We're going to have to go in," Dean said decisively. "Sammy, can you make them steps?"

Sam shook his head. There was no way he would be able to scale the eight steps to Castiel's door. He was having enough trouble walking on a flat surface already.

"I'll go in. Get the lay of the land." Dean threw open his door. "You guys hang tight."

"Dean"—Sam caught his arm to stop him climbing out of the car—"go easy on him, okay?"

Dean's face reddened. "After all he did?"

"Because of what he did," Sam said enigmatically and released his brother.

Dean looked blankly at Sam and then got out of the car.

He felt a certain sense of trepidation as he walked to the house. He could feel Bobby and Sam's eyes on him, and he wondered if they were as nervous as he was. His feelings at seeing Castiel alive were mixed. The part of him that remembered Castiel for who he had once been was glad to see him alive, but the other larger part of him was angry that Castiel was alive and well after all he had done. Especially after what he had done to Sam. Why was Castiel allowed to live out his apparently peaceful life when Sam was forced to suffer?

He took the steps two at a time and rang the doorbell. After waiting a moment, it was opened by a pretty, smiling woman.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

Dean paused for a moment before answering. Should he let her know that he knew the truth about Castiel? Did _she_ know the truth? If Castiel had gone deep undercover, he may not have told her who he really was. "I'm looking for Emmanuel?" he said when the pause became too long and she started to look at him with concern.

"You've come to the right place. I'm Daphne, Emmanuel's wife."

"Dean." He held out a hand and she shook it.

"Won't you come in?" She opened the door and gestured him in. He was led into a large lounge with plush furnishings. She directed him to a couch, and he sank down into the soft cushions. Taking a seat opposite him, she leaned forward with her hands clasped on her lap.

"Why are you looking for Emmanuel?"

"I hear he can heal people," Dean said.

She nodded. "He can. God has given my husband a gift, and he does the Lord's work daily. Can I ask, are you here for yourself or another?"

"It's my brother." Dean rubbed at his tired eyes. "He's had a stroke."

"I am sorry. When did this happen?"

"Yesterday." Dean huffed a laugh as her eyes widened. "We took him straight out of the hospital and came here."

"Was that wise?"

Dean shrugged. His shoulders felt heavy with the weight that was piled on them. "Maybe not. All I know is that medicine has done all it can for Sam; we need a miracle."

She smiled knowingly. Dean guessed that she heard that a lot. "You have come to the right place. Emmanuel's a miracle worker."

Dean nodded. "So, how does this work. How much does it cost?"

"I do not charge for my services." The familiar dry voice came from behind Dean.

He spun in his seat and saw Castiel standing in the doorway. He gulped as a wealth of memories assaulted him. The first time he'd seen Castiel, with his shadowy wings spread wide. The times he had seen Castiel appear out of nowhere. Laughing with him. Arguing with him against the killing of innocents when they were up against Samhain. Consoling him about absent fathers. Those and a hundred other memories came to him, and he wondering disconnectedly if that was how Sam felt when another dose of memories returned. It was no wonder they were hurting him; it made Dean feel dizzy.

He marshaled himself and nodded to Castiel. "What do you do it for then?"

"It is God's work. To charge would be a sin."

Dean stared into Castiel's eyes and searched for some sign of recognition. There had to be something, but Castiel stared back at him, betraying no emotion. Not that he ever had before. Castiel was master of the poker faces.

"Emmanuel, why don't you speak to our guest while I fetch us a drink? Is tea okay?" she asked.

Dean nodded. "Tea sounds great." More than he wanted a drink, he wanted a moment alone with Castiel to talk.

Daphne left the room and Castiel came to stand behind the armchair she had vacated. He had rarely sat before; as an angel, he hadn't needed to rest weary legs. Dean wondered how Daphne rationalized these quirks of his.

"I listened to your conversation," Castiel said bluntly, displaying the usual lack of self-awareness. "I am sorry for your brother. A stroke is a terrible malady. Is he much older than you?"

"No, he's my younger brother."

Castiel merely looked his confusion.

"It's not entirely medical what's happened to Sam."

"That should be fine. I can cure illness of a spiritual origin. What happened to him?"

"He had an accident a while back, and he had amnesia. Some of the things he lost were really dark memories. We thought it was a gift that he didn't remember, because before the accident he was in a bad way… spiritually. Then the memories started coming back, and they hurt him. He remembers nearly everything now, but that's what caused the stroke. His mind just couldn't cope with what he was seeing."

"He must have been through something terrible if the memories are hurting him like this," Castiel said blandly.

"Believe me when I say he went through hell."

"I can sympathize with his memory loss," Castiel said. "I myself have no memories beyond less than a year ago."

Dean looked at him, trying to discern whether he was talking to the real Emmanuel or if Castiel was lying to him. He couldn't tell for sure, but he thought this was Emmanuel talking.

"What happened to you?" he asked.

"Months ago, she was hiking by the river, and I wandered into her path, drenched and confused, and... unclothed. I had no memory. She said God wanted her to find me."

"You believe that?"

"I must believe. I believe God bestowed upon me the gift to heal. Why would he not send someone to save me from myself?"

Dean heard something more than Castiel's intent in his words. _'Someone to save me from myself.'_ Dean had tried to be that person. He had tried so hard to stop Castiel from absorbing the souls, but he hadn't listened. If he had just trusted Dean, none of this would be happening now. Sam's memories would be safe behind the wall, and Castiel would still be himself. Because Dean was sure now that Emmanuel was no act. Castiel truly believed he was a human man with a wife and an extraordinary life. What he didn't know was how he was going to tell him the truth. How did you tell someone they were really an angel with a body count of hundreds to their name?

"So," Dean said, "who named you Emmanuel?"

"Bouncing baby names dot com," Castiel said simply.

Dean smiled. "Well, it's working for you. Must be weird not knowing who you are."

"Well, it's my life. And it's a good life."

"Yeah, well, what if you were some kind of... I don't know..." Dean struggled to find the right words. "…bad guy?"

Castiel frowned. "Oh. I don't feel like a bad person."

"I don't think anyone does," Dean said sagely. "Even if they are."

"I imagine that's true."

"Would you want to remember if you could?" Dean asked.

Castiel considered for so long Dean thought he wouldn't answer. "No," he said eventually. "I believe some things are better left lost."

He was certainly right where Sam was concerned, Dean thought. Sam should never have remembered.

Daphne came back into the room, laden with a tray. She set it on the table and poured their tea. Dean picked up his cup and held it between his hands. It helped to ground him, as he found his temper was fraying. Castiel had this perfect life now, with no memories of his crimes, while his brother was outside in the car, suffering because of what Castiel had done to him.

Suddenly, he couldn't bear to be in Castiel's house anymore. He wanted to be with his brother. He swigged back his tea, scorching his throat. "So, what happens now?" he asked. "Can you fix my brother? 'Cause he can't get into the house. The steps."

"I will come to you," Castiel said. "There are preparations that must be made."

"You need to chant or something?" Dean asked acidly.

"No," Castiel said patiently. "I need to pray."

Daphne set down her tea and stood. "I trust you are not from the area. Where are you staying?"

"We're pretty far out," Dean said. "Can you recommend a place around here?"

"The Sunset Rooms on Main Street are reputed to be good," she said, leading him to the door.

"Fine. We'll be there." Dean picked up a pad of paper from a table by the telephone and jotted down his number. "Here, if there's any problem, give me a call."

"There will be no problem," she said. "Emmanuel will come to you and heal your brother. Have faith."

Dean sighed. "I used to, but I found people you put your faith in let you down."

She smiled. "You do not need to fear that with Emmanuel. He is one of God's chosen."

"Yeah, so I hear," Dean mumbled. He opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. He felt infinitely better just being out of the house and away from Castiel. He bounded down the steps and climbed into the car.

Sam's heart sank as he saw Dean exit the house alone. Castiel wasn't going to help him. It didn't surprise him. He had quite literally stabbed the angel in the back.

Bobby reached over the back seat and squeezed his shoulder. "Let's see what Dean has to say before we get upset," he said.

"Bobby, I tried to kill the man. You really think he'll want to help me now?"

"There were… circumstances," Bobby said awkwardly as Dean got into the car. "Cas would understand that."

"He would if he was really, Cas," Dean said. "That guy in there isn't Cas."

"But we saw. It has to be. Unless…" Sam frowned. "Is that Jimmy? Has Cas abandoned his vessel?"

"No, that's Cas. At least I think it is. He's healing people and the story checks out."

"What's the story?" Bobby asked. "Don't leave us hanging. Suspense sucks."

"Let's get out of here first," Dean said. "I don't like being so close." He put the car into gear and pulled away from the sidewalk.

Sam turned in his seat to watch his brother. Dean's knuckles were white on the steering wheel and his jaw was tensed. Sam wondered what had happened to his brother in that house.

The ride to the motel only took a few minutes and soon Dean was unlocking the door to their room. Sam shuffled in and sank gratefully into the chair by the small table. Bobby took the seat opposite him, and Dean leaned against the wall; he felt too tense to sit and relax.

"So, what happened?" Bobby asked.

"He's not Cas," Dean said. "Not really."

Sam and Bobby exchanged a confused look, and Dean continued.

"He really thinks he's this Emmanuel guy. He said he has no memories beyond a year ago. This Daphne, his wife, found him buck-naked and wandering by a river."

Bobby took off his cap and raked a hand through his graying hair. "That sounds a might convenient."

Dean nodded. "That's what I thought, but Cas genuinely believes it. We all know what a crappy actor he was, and that was an Oscar worthy performance."

"I guess he could have forgotten," Bobby said thoughtfully. "Those souls he sucked down definitely did some damage. You saw him at the end; that was the leviathans talking, not Cas."

"Yeah, but the rest of it, the years he spent with us, the apocalypse, he remembers nothing of it. Why would he have forgotten that?"

"Maybe he wanted to," Sam said quietly. "God knows I understand the desire."

Dean looked sympathetically at his brother. Even if Castiel came and healed Sam, he wouldn't be able to erase the memories Sam had of hell and his soulless months. They were something Sam would have to learn to live with.

"What do we do next?" he asked. "How do we tell Emmanuel that he's really an angel?"

Bobby frowned. "No idea. Are we even sure we want to?"

"Why wouldn't we?" Dean asked.

"Because he's got a heck of a lot of baggage," Bobby said. "Think of the death count he racked up. At the end he seemed like the old Cas, but before that he was running amok."

"But he needs to know," Dean said with anger in his tone. "He has to know what he's done. He can't escape all that in his perfect little apple pie life. That's not…"

"Fair?" Bobby suggested. "Since when is life fair?"

"He broke Sam!" Dean spat. His anger was building. "He doesn't get away with that."

"And what are we going to do with him when he knows?" Bobby asked. "Put him in a time out? God knows he's done bad, but he also did a lot of good. You've said it yourself."

Dean thought back to the conversation they'd had when he was still desperately clinging to the hope that Castiel hadn't gone bad. _'When there was no one, and we were stuck—and I mean really stuck—he broke ranks. He has gone to the mat cut and bleeding for us so many freakin' times. This is Cas!'_

That was precisely the problem. This was Cas. The closest friend Dean had ever had outside his small family. Cas that he had trusted. Cas that he would have died for. Cas that betrayed him.

"What are you really angry about?" Bobby asked. "The fact he broke your brother or the fact he broke you?"

"What are you talking about?" Dean scoffed. "It wasn't me that Cas hurt."

"It was," Sam said softly. "You trusted him and he betrayed you. Another person you trusted let you down. Just like me."

"We're not talking about you right now, Sammy."

"We are. You're angry. And you have every right to be. The reason I have been hurt is my own fault. I set Lucifer free, and because of that, I had to put him back. I went to hell, and those memories are hurting me now. It's all my own fault, but you can't blame me because I'm already hurting myself. So you're blaming Cas, because that makes it easier for you to handle what's happening, but it's wrong."

Dean jumped to his feet and paced the room. "I don't want to talk about this now, Sammy. We're talking about Cas and what he did to you."

Sam got shakily to his feet and caught Dean's arm as he passed. "I'm sorry, Dean. More sorry than you know."

Dean turned away. He didn't want to hear Sam's apologies. He didn't want to think what Sam was saying was true. If he forced himself to examine the words, he would be forced to admit that Sam was right and he was angry at the wrong person. It was easier to blame Castiel than to blame his sick and ailing brother.

"This is about Cas," he said firmly.

"Okay," Sam nodded. "If this is about Cas, then I get to decide what happens next. It was my mind he broke, so I get to say what happens."

Dean paused in his pacing and looked at his brother. "And what do you want to do?"

"I don't want to do anything. Whatever happens, I don't want anyone trying to jog his memory. Let's let him have his life. It's what he deserves after all he did for us."

Bobby looked satisfied. "I think you're right. He deserves this, especially after he fixes up Sam. He is going to, right?"

Dean nodded. "He said he would come to us here. I guess we just have to wait."

Dean looked away and fixed his eyes on the window, searching for a sign of Castiel's arrival.

They waited for almost an hour in relative silence. Only speaking to check the time or to suggest reasons for Castiel's delay.

Then, just as Dean was about to suggest someone went for lunch, a small car pulled into the parking lot. Dean recognized Daphne behind the wheel and Castiel sitting in the passenger seat.

Dean opened the motel room door and waited in the doorway.

"The moment of truth," Bobby muttered.

Sam stiffened. Now the moment was upon him, he was nervous. He was scared of what might happen. Castiel could heal him completely or he could fail. This wasn't an ordinary malady, maybe he wouldn't be able to help.

Chewing his bottom lip, he got to his feet and stood behind Dean at the door.

Castiel crossed the distance from the car and smiled vaguely at Dean; his full attention was on Sam. He saw the signs of illness in the man and his heart went out to him. He was so young to have suffered so much.

Dean stepped aside and Castiel reached out a hand to Sam.

"Hello, Sam. My name is Emmanuel, and I am going to help you."

* * *

**So there is it, the last full chapter of Clean Slate. There's just the epilogue to come now. **

**I hope you have enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. It's been a heck of a ride and I'm sad to see it end. **

**I want to say a special thanks to everyone that has read and reviewed this story. When I started, my aim was to reach 100 reviews. Now I am creeping in on 300. I never thought the story would be so popular, and I am eternally grateful for those of you that have shared your thoughts. **

**CoM x **


	35. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

"Sam! Haul your ass. If you aren't out here in five minutes, I'm going without you!"

There was a laugh from inside the bathroom, and Dean and Bobby exchanged a smile.

"Sure you are," Sam yelled back. "You're going to take on a rugaru alone."

"I can hunt alone, you know," Dean said bad temperedly.

Sam bounded out of the bathroom and grinned as he saw his brother's scowl.

"Of course you can. You don't need anyone. Tell you what, you go after the rugaru, and me and Bobby can kick back here and watch the game." He sat down on the couch and put his feet up on the coffee table.

Bobby huffed a laugh and pulled a beer out of the fridge for Sam. "Here you go, boy."

Sam took it and grinned at his brother. "Thanks, Bobby."

"Hell, no." Dean snatched the beer out of Sam's hand. "You're coming with me. Who knows what kind of trouble you would get into if I left you here."

Sam grinned. "No, I think I'd do better here. You're the mighty hunter after all. You can protect us all from the evil rugaru while Bobby and I sit here like good little boys."

Dean sighed and raked a hand through his hair. "Fine. I wantyou to come. Does that make you feel better?"

"Miles better," Sam said, jumping to his feet and reaching for his duffel.

"You boys got everything you need?" Bobby asked. "Flare guns?"

"And a flame thrower for good measure," Dean said, patting his bag. "We're all set for rugaru central."

"Then you best get going."

Sam pulled on his coat and zipped it. It was getting cold in Montana. Winter was definitely on the way. He wondered if they would stay in the cabin for the year or if they would be on the road properly by then. He didn't mind either way. He was happy as long as he was hunting.

Bobby watched the boys as they checked their bags one last time and then headed out of the door. Sam jogged down the steps and popped open the trunk to throw their bags in. Dean shoved his shoulder and Sam laughed. Bobby didn't hear what he was saying, but he guessed Dean was teasing his younger brother.

Bobby's thoughts travelled over the weeks to the moment Castiel had entered their motel room. Bobby had seen a lot of things before, he had experienced the healing power of Castiel, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight of Sam's healing. One moment he was bent and ailing and next he was staring dazedly at his brother. There was no sign of the paralysis that had stricken him down. He was made whole again.

That was a month ago, and Sam was well again. This rugaru hunt was their first since the healing. They had been taking a well-earned break when the news came in of the hunt from Garth. The boys were back on the hunt and soon Bobby would have to return to Chicago to finally bring down Dick Roman.

But, as he watched the Impala pull away from the cabin and down the track, he wasn't thinking of leviathans or rugarus; he was thinking of how much they had been through and how far they had come. He was thinking how good it was to see both the boys back to normal. Sam was no longer ailing, and Dean was no longer tormented by his brother's ill health.

Life was good again.

* * *

Emmanuel closed his eyes and raised his head to face the bright morning sunlight. He basked in the warmth against his face. He stepped down the porch and walked to the mailbox and pulled out the day's mail. Bill, his neighbor, was doing the same in front of his house, and he looked up and smiled when he saw Emmanuel. Emmanuel raised his hand in greeting and tuned back to the house.

When he got inside, he found Daphne at the stove, heating water for their tea. "Anything good in the mail?" she asked.

Emmanuel sifted through the envelopes. "It looks as if you have a letter from your sister, and we have more correspondence from the bank."

Daphne smiled. She was used to Emmanuel's awkward phrasing. "I'll take care of them."

Daphne was happy to manage the day-to-day parts of life, leaving Emmanuel free to concentrate on his vocation of healing. She earned enough at her job as a secretary to run the home, and there was no need for Emmanuel to concern himself with financial matters, even if he was able. The man God had sent her to save was an unusual one, and she loved him with all her heart.

The water came to the boil, and she made their tea and set a cup in front of Emmanuel. He smiled his gratitude and sipped it slowly, thinking of his day ahead. He had an appointment in Lamar that afternoon to help a woman struck down by cancer. He looked forward to the meeting in the same way you would a long awaited party. He found great fulfillment in healing. It was as if he was atoning for something. Perhaps he was. He wouldn't know.

What he did know was that he had been given a gift, and it was God's will that he helped others.

It was a simple life, but it was a good one.

* * *

**So here it is, the end of Clean Slate. Thank you to everyone that joined me on the amazing journey. I hope you enjoyed the story. I am currently working on a new story and will be posting soon, so keep an eye on my profile. **

**I am also working on the sequel to my and Snarkymuch2's story – Stairway To Heaven. If you haven't already, go to Snark's profile and check it out. It's a Samifer story, and I know that's not everyone's taste, but give it a go. We might surprise you. **

**CoM x **


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